Overture
by IdSayWhyNot
Summary: More than fifteen years have passed since Harry Potter was forced to abandon his career in law enforcement. Now a serial killer takes lives in a random pattern, baffling the Aurors, until one of Harry's close friends is targetted, forcing him out of exile. But soon a connection between some of the victims surfaces, and the Musician's hidden agenda may prove Harry's undoing.
1. Prologue

**A/N: **Welcome to my new story. I decided to add this little author's note because I've gotten a fair amount of (bitchy) complaints regarding the lack of recognizable characters. This is true. There are only OCs in the _prologue_. However, the story follows Harry, who is introduced in the first chapter. I'd advice to read the prologue _and _the first chapter before abandoning the story for lack of recognizable characters.

One last thing I also get a lot of: this story is not slash Harry/Terry. They're there because this site asks for spoilers in the description. I don't care for it. Harry is in the story. Terry is in the story. (And others as well). They will not, under any circumstances, no matter the amount of alcohol involved, bond their souls to have hot buttsex.

And now, pull open the red curtain...

**OVERTURE**

**Prologue**

"It's going to break!"

"Keep going," hollered Jiggs over the whining of the drill. "We're almost there!"

The drill operator, a man by the name of Jon whose last name Jiggs had never bothered to learn, cast a dubious glance at the excavation leader. Nonetheless he obeyed, directing the drill to go deeper. The crew watched on, knee-deep in the snow, wondering if this could really be the end of their ill-planned expedition.

Jiggs forgot about the whistling wind that knifed at his thick clothing. He forgot about a week out in the middle of nowhere. He even forgot that his boss had decided to assign minimal funding to his expedition, forcing him to draw out of his own accounts. His unexplainable epiphany to dig for a new specimen in northern Scotland would pay off today.

The drill slowly went deeper and deeper. The harsh whining grew louder. Sweat formed on the operator's brow, but one swift look at Jiggs told him that the excavation leader was not about to stop now. According to the ground study, they were almost there, a mere foot away…

The high-pitched noise of the drill suddenly grew louder, its revolutions spiked. The crew stepped back in alarm, and the operator quickly pushed the lever to the top. He sat holding the controls, panting, his ears still ringing despite the protective earplugs.

As the drill stopped moving, all eyes went to Jiggs, who stood a few feet away from the bulky machine, expressionless. He never swore. He never complained. Instead, he sighed, as if everything were a huge disappointment, and ordered the drill's head to be replaced as soon as possible. He turned his back on the excavation site and lit a cigarette, cupping his hands against the bitter wind.

"It'll take a while, sir," Jon complained. "And it's getting dark. We'll have to wait 'till tomorrow."

Jiggs stared at his drill operator, annoyed. It had no noticeable effect on him or the rest of the crew. He had discovered early on that the team he had hastily assembled held no fear or respect for him. Only the harsh weather ensured their productivity, as he had agreed to pay a flat amount for their work.

"Fine. We're done for the day. Pack up and let's get out of here."

The crew cheered in subdued fashion and began collecting their gear. They hadn't been looking forward to three more hours of work in the snow.

As the men milled about, packing tools and protective garment on the back of multiple trucks, Jiggs felt a slight tremor beneath his feet. He froze, cigarette halfway to his mouth. Nobody except Jon seemed to have felt it. Their eyes met. Fear fed on each other's unease.

Jon bolted.

Jiggs cursed.

The ground gave out.

"Move! Clear the area!"

Jiggs heard the shouts as a horrible sinking sensation settled on the pit of his stomach. Snow, drill and rock collapsed all around him. It happened fast, but on instinct his arms reached out, frantically looking for purchase. His hands slipped on the damp, hard rock, something struck his temple, the world blurred.

And he was falling, falling, falling…

He came to what felt like hours later. His head was pounding and his body felt battered and listless. There were rocks and pieces of random equipment strewn all around and over him, and his cigarette, now damp and limp, sat on a flat, wet surface inches away from his head.

Jiggs chuckled and coughed and marveled that he was still miraculously alive.

Slowly, feeling for injuries, he cleared the dust and rocks off his body and climbed to his feet, swaying unsteadily on the uneven ground. The fall hadn't been long; otherwise no amount of luck would have saved him. It was dark save for a pool of light that shone down from a hole three feet wide on the surface, illuminating debris and equipment.

And there, lying like a broken doll over the jagged rocks, was Jon. His blood looked oddly bright. A large, bloody piece of rock rested next to what was left of the man's head. The fall had twisted his hips in an impossible angle, and his arm was crushed and crooked.

Jiggs listened to the calls of his crew on the surface as he bent over and retched violently. He heaved and coughed and wished he had some water. Throat itchy and dry, he looked up, squinting against the harsh light.

"I'm okay," he called as loud as he could, still coughing. "Toss me a rope."

"Where's Jon?"

Jiggs swallowed and risked another glanced at the man's broken body. Would they blame him for Jon's death? Many of them had been close friends with the drill operator.

"I – I'm sorry," he replied. "Jon didn't make it."

He looked around. Nobody else had been close enough to fall with them.

Although he couldn't see them, he thought he felt the team's anger and grief. Jiggs cursed the ground study. It had shown a possible find down here, not a bloody cave…

He turned and more carefully studied his surroundings. It was too dark to see much. An uncomfortable weight against his leg reminded him of his flashlight, which he fished out of his pocket. He tried the switch. It still worked.

The rope ladder clattered against the wall as the men lowered it, but he was no longer paying attention. Stunned, Jiggs slowly angled the beam of light higher, following a vaguely humanoid figure's body, revealing, legs, waist, torso and head…

It was a huge statue, easily twelve feet tall. The head was too large for the body, with pointed ears and wrinkled skin, expertly carved on the aged marble. It was holding a monstrous battleaxe over its head, mouth open in a defiant roar. Two glowing gems – rubies? – had been fixed into its eye sockets.

Jiggs realized he was hardly breathing. He turned and looked up to find his team waiting expectantly for him to climb up. But the statue… He aimed the light at it again and kept staring, afraid it would vanish if he left, that it would all be product of a concussion.

"Get down here now," Jiggs heard himself saying over the pounding inside his head. "Bring the lights. You don't want to miss this."

He didn't wait for an answer.

His feet carried him forward of their own accord. The marble was smooth and perfect to the touch. He aimed the flashlight behind the statue, but the place appeared to be bigger than he had thought. Only a rough wall could be seen to the left. There seemed to be a passage that ran deeper into the cave, where the light couldn't reach.

It occurred to Jiggs that he had to document this immediately. In a burst of inspiration, he pulled out his mobile phone, praying for the thing to work. He tried a few buttons and grinned when the screen lit up. It was scratched and notched, and still wonderfully functional. He started the camera.

Seconds later, a terrified scream shattered his fixation on the statue.

Jiggs turned and hurried over to the bottom of the hole, fearing someone had fallen in their haste to descend. However, the only body there belonged to Jon. He was no longer troubled by the grotesque sight of it, filled as he was by the wonder of his discovery. But who…?

More screams added to the first. Over the whistling of the wind, Jiggs heard grunts and cries of pain. A sickly green light flashed somewhere on the surface, briefly illuminating his surroundings. He was about to call out in alarm, to demand to know what was going on. But something held him back. Slowly, he stepped away from the pool of light, heart pounding in his chest. He switched off the flashlight and waited.

The screams soon died to nothing. Jiggs' senses seemed to sharpen; water dripped somewhere deeper in the cave; the wind howled and whistled, rising and falling, almost musical. The damp, musty smell of the cave suddenly smelled of death to him, and he fought the urge to flee into the dark behind him.

A figure poked its head over the side of the opening. It was a short, stocky thing, with leathery skin and long, pointed ears. Its face was clouded in shadow, but the eyes were bright and focused, darting around the collapsed rock, barely pausing over Jon's broken body.

Jiggs was too stunned to move, and it probably saved his life. The creature sniffed twice, grunted something unintelligible and waited. For a panicked second those dark, glittering eyes seemed to settle on Jiggs, who stood frozen against the front of the statue, just barely out of sight. But the moment passed, its nose twitched, the eyes moved.

The creature grunted again. Jiggs realized with dawning horror that it was talking. Another, slightly higher voice responded, and then the creature was gone.

He remained still for a long time, listening to the frantic beating of his heart, certain that the creature would hear it and vault inside the cave after him.

A short, low beep sounded in the dark as his mobile phone's battery died.


	2. Chapter 1

******OVERTURE**

**Chapter 1**

He'd had an odd feeling that morning when he woke up.

Nothing seemed out of the ordinary; just another overcast, chilly day in the outskirts of Hogsmeade, a small town in Scotland. Harry went through his morning routine, trying to shake off the feeling that something was wrong. It was the sort of feeling you get when you forget something but can't quite tell what it is.

And so he ignored it. He had breakfast and finished reading a copy of _Dueling, Unbound_ by Genie Johansson, which he had borrowed from Hogwarts' library. He caught up on his correspondence, fed his tawny owl and polished his wand, eyeing the many notches and deep scratches on it with annoyance. The feeling lingered in the back of his mind.

Harry was pouring milk to his tea when the doorbell rang, and even though such things were rare, he was not the least bit surprised. He waved his wand at the door and took a seat by the kitchen table.

A tall, good-looking man stood in the doorway. He was young, as far as wizards go, perhaps fifty and change. He had graying black hair that was parted in the middle, sharp features and a short, round nose. His hand was halfway to the doorbell. A flicker of uncertainty passed through his face, but was masked quickly with a polite smile.

Harry's eyebrows rose. "Minister."

"Mr. Potter." The man nodded, eyes taking in the inside of the house. "May I?"

"Please."

The current Minister of Magic stepped inside and closed the door. Harry's kitchen looked humble compared to the man's bearing and clothing. He was dressed in the finest cloak Harry had seen in a while, a silver-coloured long garment embroidered in gold with precise, complicated patterns stitched on the sleeves, hem and collar. It reminded him of Dumbledore.

"Take a seat, Minister. Tea?"

The man hesitated, but sat down opposite Harry and tried to look like he was comfortable there. "Yes, please. Thank you."

_So polite_, Harry thought as he poured hot water for the Minister_. What will it be this time? Public appearance? Endorsement? Running a second term?_

Harry smiled. At least he enjoyed refusing these requests. "What can I do for you, Minister?"

"I don't believe we've met before, Mr. Potter," he began at once, sounding remarkably more confident. Harry sipped his tea. "My name is Franklin Boot II, elected Minister of Magic on… Do you keep track of recent events, Harry? May I call you Harry?"

"I do."

The Minister shifted uncomfortably. He cradled his cup of tea, which remained untouched.

"I have, ah, wanted to meet you for a long time, of course," he continued, slightly less sure of himself. "I understand my predecessors never quite established a working relationship with you, not since, well… Since you quit the Ministry –"

"I never quit the Ministry," Harry interrupted, looking intently at Boot, watching his reaction carefully. "I was _encouraged_ to abandon my position as Auror Instructor."

Though Harry's tone didn't change, the Minister went very still. He abandoned any pretence of drinking his tea, set the cup down on the wooden table and frowned.

"I don't necessarily approve of some decisions made in the past, Mr. Potter," said the man. He sounded tired now. "I only took the position two years ago. Your unfortunate circumstance happened well before my time, as you well know."

"Of course," Harry replied reasonably. "But you're here because you want something from me. Just like the others before you."

He sighed. "Yes, yes. Of course. But I'm not looking to have your forehead plastered all over my re-election campaign posters, Mr. Potter. I'm not here for personal gain. I was given to understand that this would matter to you."

_The Musician, the serial killer_, Harry thought. _Wouldn't be the first time they call me for such things._

Harry resented it, but knew perfectly well why the Minister was sitting stiffly on his kitchen chair. He had been expecting it. Admittedly, he hadn't expected the man himself to come. In Harry's experience, a lesser political affiliate currying for favour would be appointed to deal with such things.

"It's a start," Harry agreed. "Though I suppose you won't pretend that solving this little problem will have no impact on your campaign."

A flash of irritation passed through Boot's face. It was gone quick enough that he wouldn't have seen it had he not been looking for it. Harry was pleasantly surprised.

Before the Minister could respond, he said, "You're not here of your own choice, are you?"

It threw the Minister off track. He grimaced and lapsed into silence for a moment.

At last, he spoke.

"Not entirely, no. And no offense to you, Mr. Potter. I'm sure you're delightful company on a Sunday afternoon." He smiled apologetically. "But on the political body, well... You're like a splintered wand, you see. Useful, but impossible to rely on."

Harry found himself liking the man. Politicians, as a rule, were hard to like, but Boot had a blunt sort of mannerism that was refreshing. Of course, odds were it was premeditated as part of his strategy to persuade him to lend his assistance. No doubt the man's nephew, Terry Boot, who had attended Hogwarts with Harry, was behind the insight into Harry's character. Still, at least he'd gone to the trouble of actually thinking about how to persuade him.

"Alright, Minister," Harry said, smiling slightly. "You don't want me next to you while you give your speeches. You don't want endorsements. You're not here to attempt to bribe me. I don't think you want me on the Wizengamot to be your radio, either. You have my attention. What do you need?"

_And here it comes. Three, two, one – wait for it..._

"I want you to find the Musician and kill him."

Harry frowned. He hoped he'd misunderstood, but a part of him knew he hadn't. The way the Minister spat out the words gave him pause and, for the first time since Boot had stepped into his kitchen, he was thrown off track.

"Excuse me? Surely you meant capture."

The Minister stared at him through flat eyes. "No."

Harry took a deep breath. "I am not an assassin, Minister, and I suggest you take great care not to imply otherwise. I am, however, willing to hear you out, since you've taken the trouble of coming here all the way from London."

He seemed to be thinking hard about something. Harry thought he looked frustrated and confused. Had Terry painted a different picture of Harry Potter to his uncle?

"I'll be honest with you, Mr. Potter," the Minister said. "But first you have to understand that I am not playing around here. If what I say to you today were to fall on the wrong ears, I'd be forced to resign and arrested within hours."

"I understand that. You can speak freely here."

He nodded. "You said you keep up with current events, but I doubt you are up to date with this case. Aurors have been ordered to cease all contact with the press and –"

"I don't mean to come off as obnoxious," Harry interrupted, "but I already know about the three Muggles and the liaison to the Goblins killed last week. It's five Muggles and fourteen wizards total, correct?"

Harry was rather proud of his sources, in many ways. They were virtually impossible to get caught and, even if they – or he – were caught, he knew that as a retired Auror Harry could be told of current cases without breaking the law, though it was highly frowned upon. His sources were untouchable, at least as long as no other laws were broken while obtaining the information.

And the Minister was impressed, though not as much as Harry had expected. But instead of prodding him about the source, Boot exhaled a long suffering breath and said, "Fifteen."

"Pardon?"

"_Fifteen_ wizards," the Minister repeated. "Or rather, nine wizards and six witches. The last one happened early this morning. She was my niece-in-law, Susan Bones."

_No, no, no..._

The Minister's voice seemed to come from very far away. Harry's eyes were drawn towards the picture of the seven survivors that had been framed and nailed to the wall behind where the Minister sat. He couldn't make out the faces from across the room.

_No, no, no..._

She would still be in the picture, along with him, Hermione, Terry, Neville, Zacharias and Padma. It was the only picture Harry had heard of in which the occupants moved but never left the frame. The plaque at the bottom read: _"Hogwarts Class of 1997"._

"Mr. Potter?"

Harry didn't need to look at the picture anymore. He knew what they were all wearing, their expressions, the scratches and cuts that were visible on their arms and faces... They all looked like they would never leave the grounds. But of course they had left Hogwarts. Only Terry, Susan and Harry lived in Britain anymore.

And Susan and Terry had gotten married. _Oh Merlin, Terry_.

"Are you alright?"

Harry blinked. The Minister now sat to his left, though Harry didn't remember him moving. He'd placed a hand on his shoulder and was squeezing slightly. "Yeah, yeah. I'm... yeah." He swallowed with some effort. "How's Terry?"

Franklin Boot looked his years now that Harry could see him up close; the crowfeet, the laugh lines, the slightly sunken eyes, and that sense of responsibility and duty that seemed to weigh him down. He sounded tired and in pain.

"Not well. Not well at all," Boot explained. He stood up, grabbed the kettle, lit a fire and set more water to boil. He spoke with his back to Harry. "Look, there's something else. I – I don't know quite how to explain this. It's... Sorry, I don't mean to dawdle. It's just..."

The Minister sighed and turned. He rummaged through an inner pocket of his cloak and produced an envelope. Harry thought the day couldn't get any worse, but the sight of the envelope made him break into a cold sweat. Very slowly Boot placed the envelope at his elbow, picked up Harry's empty tea cup and turned to give him some privacy.

Harry picked up the envelope with shaking hands and slit it open.

A picture fell onto the kitchen table. Harry went pale at the sight of it. He felt the hairs on the back of his head stand on end and a horrible swamp of anxiety festered in the pit of his stomach.

Susan Bones, ashen and cold, stared up at him through empty eyes. She was naked but for a thin flannel shirt that had been slashed open to reveal bruised breasts. There, carved cruelly on her abdomen, were the words _"Chase me, Potter."_

Harry made a choking sound. He looked helplessly at the Minister, and when the man turned Harry understood Boot's reticence to come asking for his help. His nephew's wife was dead. He couldn't let that go unpunished. And yet, she was dead because of Harry, because someone wanted to play a game with him.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," he whispered.

The Minister nodded slowly. "Tomorrow, my niece's death will be in every paper in Britain and the fact that the Musician left a message for you will be leaked. News is always leaked."

He pushed away from the kitchen counter, placed a fresh cup of tea in front of him and headed for the door. "I'm afraid I have to go," he explained. "There will be quite an uproar when the news goes public. I have to be there." Perhaps he tried to smile in a comforting manner, but it came out rather forced and cold. "Regardless of your choice, Mr. Potter, I thought you needed to know."

Harry stood as well. "Minister, I..."

What was he going to say? That he was sorry? Sorry his niece had had to die because some madman wanted Harry to play a game? There was bitterness and resentment in the Minister's eyes. Granted, the man had played him like a fiddle from the very first moment he stepped inside his house, carefully directing the conversation, dropping the bomb at the very end so as to ensure his assistance; but the cold truth was that Harry Potter had as good as murdered his niece.

So he didn't apologize again. He didn't look the Minister in the eye and told him he would bring The Musician to justice. He didn't promise to look day and night for the man who had murdered his niece. Harry felt the odd feeling he'd been having all morning coalesce into a pit of determination and hunger. He hadn't felt like this since Voldemort had been torn and broken at his feet.

He couldn't meet the Minister's eyes, so Harry looked down at Susan's sweet, bloodied face and said, "I'll kill him."


	3. Chapter 2

**OVERTURE**

**Chapter 2**

Harry arrived at the Ministry three hours after Boot's visit.

It was a gigantic place, way bigger than a building had any right to be in the middle of London. But, of course, wizards cheated; the Ministry of Magic was underground, and what real space there was had been magically expanded.

The Magical Fountain still dominated the Atrium, forcing wizards to circle it as they approached the security desks. Aurors, dressed in their customary red cloaks, were spread out in force. A full team of six had been placed to guard the hallway that led to the elevators. Harry could see them holding back a group of enthusiastic journalists.

And there were so many witches and wizards. Harry, secluded as he lived, sometimes forgot just how many people worked in the Ministry. Although Muggles outnumbered them many times over – almost twenty thousand to one – the amount of wizards in a single place was staggering.

Already in a foul mood, Harry scowled disapprovingly at the throngs of people. He had never liked crowds. He wished he still had his invisibility cloak; any other form of cloaking done with a wand would fail in here. Worse, the Aurors would be alerted, and that would only draw even more attention to himself.

He slowly walked through the Atrium, past the rebuilt magical fountain and the security desks. An Auror stationed there spared him a passing glance. Harry saw his eyes widen as his head followed his progress. Head down, with nobody else paying attention to him, Harry reached the hallway without anyone shouting out his name.

But that's where his luck ended. There was no moving past the group of journalists standing there without being recognized.

Marleen Gatsby spotted him first. Harry knew her from past (failed) attempts to interview him for _What Wizard_magazine.

"Mr. Potter!" Marleen squeaked as she hurried over to him. She had a voice like helium and eunuchs. "Oh, Mr. Potter! Has that man Barrock finally come to his senses? Will you help the Aurors capture the Musician?"

Harry cringed. Journalists' heads turned. Cameras flashed.

He made his way towards the elevators, pushing through the group of people. The Aurors had been waiting for him, it seemed. They quickly stepped forward and cleared a space for him to pass through. But Harry knew enough by now to realize how things would play out if he didn't give a statement, however brief; not even the community's love for him would stop the bizarre speculations.

Harry passed a few quick nods and quiet greetings to the Aurors, who nodded respectfully in return. None of them had worked with him before. One of the team members was a trainee, distinguishable by his lack of a polished bronze badge pinned to his breast pocket.

Then he turned and stood before the journalists. He itched to get into the elevators, but forced himself to smile and raise his hands to quiet the stream of questions. "Enough, please," he called without shouting; other Ministry employees had noticed the little gathering and the Atrium was growing quiet. "I don't have much time for questions, so let's make this brief."

A journalist he didn't recognize spoke up. "Mr. Potter, why did you quit the Auror Academy?"

Harry wasn't impressed. "That's your first question? Next."

To the man's alarm, even other journalists tore their eyes way from Harry to glare at him. Harry didn't quite know what to make of it.

"Mr. Potter, please," ventured another. "There is talk of Head Auror Barrock resigning because of his repeated failure in catching up to The Musician. Does this mean you're here to take over the investigations?"

Harry inwardly winced. He knew Barrock well. The man had too much pride to let a comment like that slide.

"Not at all," he replied, showing none of his discomfort. "I will be a consultant on this case and on this case alone. Head Auror Barrock is still very much in charge of the Aurors_and_the investigations."

Sweet words and empty platitudes, and Barrock would use them to kindle to life his old resentment. There was no helping it.

"Mr. Potter, Gustav Orlo, _Quarterly Owl._How do you feel about the murder of Susan Bones? Is she the reason you have decided to take action?"

Harry's neutral smile became brittle, his expression souring. "Many good citizens have lost their lives to this maniac. I will do my best to aid the Aurors so as to put an end to it as quickly as possible."

There was a brief pause in which no one said anything. The journalists seemed to take a collective breath, until one of them gave voice to the question they were all itching to ask.

"Mr. Potter, is it true that the Musician left a message for you at the last crime scene?"

Harry glared at the one who'd asked the question, but this time the crowd kept their eyes fixed on him, ignoring his obvious disapproval. So he turned and walked away, and whatever had kept the journalists still and respectful vanished. The dam broke and the questions followed him.

"Is the Minister really hiring you to be his bodyguard?"

"Mr. Potter, are you here to take revenge on Susan Bones?"

"Who else do you think will be targeted?"

"Are there any leads you can tell us about, Mr. Potter?"

Many and more, ranging from unlikely to downright ridiculous, the journalists' shouted comments and questions followed him down the wide hallway that led to the four elevators. Harry chose the one farthest from the throng of journalists and curious Ministry workers. He stood in front of it, flanked by two Aurors while the other four controlled the flow of people. He was scowling at his reflection in the polished steel doors. The collar of his cloak itched.

The elevator dinged open and he stepped inside, followed by his escorts. To his surprise, Harry realized one of them was the trainee. He was short and plump, with a face that looked too young for frowning, yet the trainee did so anyway. His curling blonde hair and sparse beard didn't make him look any older. He pushed the button and they waited in silence.

"Well handled," the other Auror commented. Harry didn't recognize her. She must have been recruited shortly after he left, to already be a full Auror. "I'm surprised you gave them anything, considering…"

_Considering what? _Harry glanced at her. She stood rigidly to his right, hands clasped behind her back. She looked excited but determined not to show it. Her badge read: "Lieutenant Hill".

"There was no escaping it," he said curtly. He sighed, pushing away thoughts of the press and his previous dealings with them. "They would've printed something anyway. Best to have them print the truth."

The trainee spoke up. His voice was soft and shy. "Barrock won't like it anyway."

Harry smiled a little, watching the display as the lift descended to the lower levels. "No. No, he won't."

The Department of Magical Law Enforcement was located on the second level of the Ministry's Headquarters, at the very bottom of the underground building. In 1943 Minister Hagfold gave the order to expand the DMLE to make room for a special division that would be in charge of protecting witches and wizards from the threats of the Muggle war. The danger passed, the team was disbanded, and no one ever shrunk the space back.

The result was a series of rooms and offices lost to the bureaucratic machine. Since they didn't belong to any division in any department, there were no funds available to maintain them. Enchantments collapsed, dirt and dust and cobwebs took over, furniture was "borrowed" by other departments in need, and the empty rooms were now used by Aurors who enjoyed a friendly bout of dueling once in a while.

Harry saw the doors that led to said rooms as he stepped out of the elevator. He felt a pang of longing for those days. Before him stretched a long corridor, with many doors opening to different offices. To the left was Mr. Weasley's old office and other minor divisions within the DMLE. The Auror offices were at the very end of the corridor. Flanked by the Auror and the trainee, Harry began walking.

He could tell both of his companions were excited by his arrival, but where the trainee was shy and silent, Lieutenant Hill was proud and talkative.

"No one really knows why he whistles," Hill was saying. "The media, with all their dramatic flair, dubbed him The Musician. Gives the man a sort of status, like he's elegant or something. We don't care much for it, but what can you do? That's what everyone calls him now."

Harry nodded along politely. He agreed with her assessment; "The Musician", however, was a vast improvement over "He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named".

"It's the damndest thing. There seems to be no pattern to the victims – nothing connects them at all. There's even been some Muggle killings, though the media hasn't got a hold on that or don't care. And of course he leaves no trace. He's more ghost than musician if you ask me."

They reached the double doors that separated the Aurors offices from the rest and made their way inside. Rows upon rows of cubicles were neatly lined against the wall, while two large desks flanked by hardwood panels dominated the center. The middle desks – usually called "the island" – contained and displayed case information common to all Aurors; the cubicles were for individually assigned work.

The office was largely empty. Half the Aurors would be out to lunch, if Harry remembered correctly, and most of those that had the second lunch period were upstairs monitoring the situation in the Atrium. The ones left behind turned at the sound of the door opening. Many stood up and approached him.

"Harry!"

A woman in her mid-thirties hurried ahead of the others. It looked like she wanted to throw her arms around him, but instead settled for an awkward handshake. She looked half-happy, half-apprehensive, and her long dark hair was fizzled and her eyes puffy from lack of sleep.

"Lillian," said Harry, smiling. _Why so guilty, Lillian?_"Good to see you."

"It's been too long! You never stop by anymore."

The rest of the Aurors stood in a half-circle in front of him, some introducing themselves, others greeting him in a more familiar fashion. Harry didn't remember most of those he was supposed to remember. It came as a slight shock to him that he was older than all but two of the Aurors present.

They looked like a fine bunch, if a little stressed. The tension could be seen in the way they talked a little too loud, gestured a little too wildly; in the distinct way young and old Aurors stood in different groups; in walking slightly hunched, eyes blurry from lack of sleep.

Harry stood in their midst, talking to them like a long lost cousin, breathing in the smells of wand polish, cheap parchment and hard work and anxiety. Rick had two kids now. Harry remembered Jill's heart-felt desire to retire as soon as possible, and fifteen years later she was still there, complaining about taxes and payments and his son's unemployment, to the amusement of all who knew her. And Yen still had that hilarious accent that set him apart, though the rough edges had been polished away over the years…

Merlin, it was good to be inside the office again.

The pressure to deliver, crack the case and save the day was very much present in the room. Harry could tell the Aurors wanted to discuss it but didn't want to sour the conversation with talk of murder. He was happy to oblige.

Then a door opened at the back of the room. The Head Auror stepped out of his office and stood in the doorway. Aurors turned to look at him and moved out of the way, leaving a clear path to Harry. They fell silent.

"Harry Potter."

Harry's smile vanished. "Leon Barrock."

The Head Auror smiled a smile that was all wands and scythes. Harry didn't miss Lieutenant Hill and Lillian sharing an apprehensive look. Barrock stepped to the side, gesturing for Harry to join him in his office.

Harry reluctantly excused himself and went inside.

* * *

Things hadn't changed much in the Head Auror's office – except the man that occupied it, of course.

Never a man of much warmth or social skills, Auror Barrock had nonetheless been an excellent Lieutenant. In between Voldemort's two rises to power, the man had earned three Silver Wands for exceptional commitment to duty and excellence in Law Enforcement, and an Order of Merlin Third Class for remarkable selflessness shown during a Death Eater raid in 1997.

That same year Fudge was replaced by Scrimgeour as Minister of Magic, who appointed his old partner, Gawain, to in turn replace him as Head Auror. Many felt the position should've gone to Barrock. After the black years of Voldemort as the _de facto_ ruler of Britain, Barrock was given the position of Head Auror Instructor. Harry was among his first batch of recruits.

The man looked as intimidating now as he had back then, more than fifteen years ago. He was almost a head shorter than Harry, though powerfully built. His face was drawn and proud, marked by a series of small, straight scars he'd gotten from a stray exploding curse. He looked fierce and competent, and he resented Harry with a passion.

"Take a seat."

Harry sat and waited for Barrock to walk around him and lean against his desk; an old habit. He stood there, arms folded, staring down at Harry, who said nothing.

"I knew they'd bring you in sooner or later," Barrock suddenly said, his tone unimpressed. "Couldn't pass up the opportunity to show us just how wrong we were to throw you out. To be honest, I was hoping you'd refuse – Merlin knows you've done it before."

No use in rising to the bait. Harry glanced around the room, noting the lack of any personal objects; the man lived for the job. There were many that did. The burnt splinters of Barrock's ruined old wand had been framed and fixed to the wall along with his Silver Wands and Order of Merlin Third Class.

After a long silence, Harry said, "I heard you got a divorce."

The man grunted. "None of your business."

"And you're dating Lillian now?"

Barrock was nonchalant, but his nostrils flared for a split second, eyes narrowed. "_None. Of. Your. Business_."

Harry looked at him, expressionless. "You could get into trouble for that, you know? Best to change policy before someone talks – _Merlin knows you've done it before_."

Barrock stared at him for a long time. Outside, Harry heard a sudden rise in conversation; probably the Aurors out for lunch who had now just returned. He wished he could just tell the Head Auror to give him the case files and bugger off. But that wasn't the way things worked.

Finally, the Head Auror snorted and said, "Never thought you were an idiot, Potter." He sighed and took a seat behind his desk. "You showed some promise at first. Solid wand work and a keen eye, better than most idiots I had to train. But you had a _big_nose. And no sense of when to keep your head down and nod along." He grimaced. "And that bloody cheek on you."

Harry smiled slightly for the first time since seeing Barrock. _And you were an asshole with too much pride to let a trainee bounce your ass against the walls_, he thought._Twice_.

Out loud, he said, "I didn't leave because I couldn't obey orders. You know perfectly well why I had to leave and it had nothing to do with that."

"Oh I know why you left," said Barrock easily. "Although the press seems to think otherwise, I'm not an incompetent idiot."

So he'd already heard about the comments in the Atrium. Harry wasn't surprised. What Barrock didn't have in looks and charm he made up for in a sharp tongue and an uncanny ability to know what was being said in his circles, whether he was present at the time or not.

"I'm not here to discuss what happened, Barrock. I don't even care about it anymore." He leaned back and met Barrock's dark eyes. "I'm here to find the bastard. Nothing else."

Barrock grunted. "What makes you think you'll find him?"

"I'm good at this and you know it." Harry shrugged. "And even if I wasn't, the Minister himself came knocking, asking me to come in. Let me take a look at the case files and I'm gone."

"I thought the Minister might try talking to you. After all, she _was_his niece-in-law, wasn't she? I don't suppose he was too happy about that."

That bitter resentment was still very much there. Harry sighed. "Don't be an asshole, Barrock. It suits you too well."

Barrock turned his back to him and began sorting through some paperwork left over on his cabinet. "Talk to Trainee Baggins," he said, not looking at Harry. "He will be your contact. Don't go strolling around the Ministry without him or you _will_be arrested for trespassing. You'll find the case files at the Island. Make copies if you wish, but don't take them outside the office. Make sure you sign the contract." He paused. "That will be all."

Harry nodded, stood up and turned to leave. He thought of saying something about Lillian, about how incredibly stupid Barrock was behaving by involving himself with her. Before he could say anything, however, the Head Auror turned and met his eyes. Harry waited with his hand on the doorknob.

Barrock grimaced. "How did you know?"

He grinned. "If it makes you feel any better, you didn't drop the ball. Lillian looked guilty when she saw me. It's been over between us for a long time and she knows it. You're the only man I would object to, and she knows that as well."

"Son of a bitch," Barrock grumbled. He nodded once at Harry. "No one knows about us."

Harry thought it was a pity things had turned out this way. It hadn't been the man's fault, but as his instructor, Barrock had suffered for Harry's name as well.

Harry returned the nod. "Take care."

He was half-way out the door when Barrock called, "Potter, wait." Harry stuck his head inside. "So, do you?"

"What?"

"Do you object to us? Me and Lillian?"

Harry smiled toothily. "Congratulations on the promotion, Barrock. Long overdue."

* * *

Trainee Baggins was the short, shy young man Harry had met at the Atrium. He was waiting for him at the Island – the two desks in the middle of the Auror offices – holding a thick stack of papers, a quill, ink and a manila folder.

"I'm supposed to be your…guide, I guess, sir," said Baggins. He smiled hesitantly. "Here's the temporal agreement with the office. And I made copies of the case files for you."

Harry slit open the manila folder and went over the contract first. Standard items, drafted to keep him from disclosing confidential information and relieving the DMLE of any responsibility should something happen to him during the course of the investigations. He signed all three pages and left them on Barrock's in-pile next to the door of his office.

He picked up the case files, flipped through the pages, read something for a few seconds, and dumped the stack of papers into the trash.

"Come," Harry told a wide-eyed Baggins. "Help me with this map here. I need a blank page and some more ink."

Baggins nodded, looking confused but curious, and fetched a stack of papers and ink from a neighboring cubicle. The Auror sitting there turned and glared at Baggins, and promptly closed his mouth when he saw Harry smiling placidly at him.

"Here."

Harry nodded his thanks and pulled out his wand. He gave it a flick and a blank piece of paper fixed itself over the map. With another wave of his wand, the quill dipped itself into the ink, rose and began tracing lines and dots onto the paper. Soon, tiny flags took shape, scattered all over an accurate map of England, and a series of names and dates appeared to the side.

"Neat, eh?"

Baggins nodded mutely. "But you don't need the files?"

"Including the Muggles, there have been nineteen murders," Harry said. He gave Baggins a knowing look. "You think I haven't been keeping my own notes?"

Baggins looked puzzled for a moment, then swallowed uneasily and looked around to make sure no one had heard them. "Why?"

Harry shrugged. "Once an Auror, always an Auror. Ask any of the retired folks. Plus, it gives me something to do."

The trainee looked like he dearly wanted to ask something, but smothered the impulse with great effort. Instead he glanced around the crowded office and said in a low voice, "You know you can't take that, right?"

Harry glanced at him. "The contract specified I couldn't copy the case files. It didn't say anything about maps."

"But –"

"Aurors draw these maps to aide them, but they aren't part of the official records." Harry waved his wand one last time, made it disappear inside his left sleeve, and collected the finished copy of the murder locations and dates. The quill dropped to the desk, lifeless. "It's a neat, useful thing to have and I don't feel like drawing my own. Ready to go?"

Baggins was still struggling with the casual disregard of Auror policy. He reminded Harry of a young Hermione, back when she worshipped order and obedience. The trainee looked around the office nervously, but nobody noticed Harry's actions – or if they did, they didn't mind. Then Baggins nodded and followed Harry out the door.

"Harry, wait up!"

They hadn't taken five steps outside the office when Lillian opened the doors and hurried over to him. She was holding a blue memo in her hand. The piece of paper fluttered in agitation as if it were eager to fly away.

"Leaving already? I thought you'd stay a bit to discuss the case. Everyone was quite excited to have you here again."

"I can't stay. Sorry." Susan's bloodied face swam before his eyes. _Chase me, Potter._"We can talk later. I'll be back once I see the…the last crime scene."

Lillian bit her lip and nodded, then took hold of Harry's hand and stepped closer. She smelled of fresh parchment and vanilla. Her brown eyes looked huge from up close.

Baggins coughed uncomfortably. "I'll just wait by the elevator then."

"I'm sorry, Harry," she said softly once Baggins wasn't within earshot. "I know you two were close."

Harry nodded but didn't speak. The silence stretched.

"Listen, I…"

"I know."

Her eyebrows rose. "You do?"

Harry grimaced. "I don't exactly approve, but it's your choice. Just don't be too obvious, Lil. You know it'll be the end of your career if someone files a complaint."

"Yeah."

More silence.

Though a little rattled, Lillian managed a smile for him. She withdrew her hand and stepped back.

"They moved the morgue," she suddenly said. "I don't… Maybe you want to, you know – I guess I just thought you might want to say goodbye. Third floor."

Harry pictured Susan lying still on a slab of cold stone, two candles burning to the sides of her head. He imagined Terry kneeling next to her, weeping and broken. His throat felt tight. _Oh, Susie…_

"I'd rather not, for the moment. Thanks though."

Lillian nodded. "Well, I should go. Guess I'll see you tomorrow?"

Harry tried to smile. It must've looked ghastly. "Yeah."

She kissed him on the cheek, squeezed his shoulder and went back inside. Harry exhaled a shuddering breath.

He walked towards the elevator and stood next to Baggins in silence, watching the display. He considered what to do next. The notes he had been keeping since the third victim was murdered were still at his house. He wanted to use the map he'd taken from the Auror office to have a clear idea of exactly where the crime scenes were located. Not all of them had been made publicly available. He also wanted to make sure that the information his source had forwarded to him had been accurate…

And he realized he was stalling. The next step was to see the crime scene and he knew it. Terry would be there. Everything else could come later.

"Sir?"

"Yes?"

"Are you visiting somewhere else within the Ministry?"

Harry glanced at the Trainee. The elevator dinged open and they stepped inside.

"What's your first name?"

"Uh, Lucas, sir."

They began their quick ascent to the Atrium. "What are your orders, Lucas?"

"To escort you anywhere you need to go inside the Ministry."

"And if I leave?"

"Um, I guess I have to wait until you return. Head Auror Barrock doesn't want to waste Aurors following you around the building."

Harry turned his head and raised his eyebrows at him. Baggins flushed.

"Sorry. His words."

"I see." Harry smiled at him as the steel doors opened into the Atrium. "Then come with me to inspect the crime scene. I could use a second pair of eyes."

Harry stalked into the Atrium at a brisk pace, trusting Baggins to follow him. The journalists had evidently decided they would get nothing else out of Harry and had left, leaving the elevator hallway blissfully deserted. Only an Auror he didn't recognize was still watching the comings and goings of the Ministry workers, who looked curiously at Harry as he made his way towards the Apparition point.

As he walked past the Auror, Harry told him to inform his immediate superior that Harry Potter's liaison with the office would be accompanying him to the last crime scene. The man looked puzzled but nodded agreeably.

"Do you really want me to go with you?" Baggins asked, wide-eyed.

They reached the Apparition zone and Harry gestured for Baggins to hold on to his left arm. "It's been a long time since I last had to do this. Someone with a clear knowledge of procedure would help a lot. But if you'd rather wait in the Atrium until I return…"

"No! No, I'll come. Yes. Alright."

Harry smiled. "Good. Hold on now."

It was true that it had been a long time since his last case. Some procedures would slip his mind, he was sure. But he wanted the company for a different reason. Terry would be distraught and angry and inconsolable, and he would let it all out if it were only him and Harry there. Though the guilt felt nauseating in his chest, he told himself that finding whoever had done this came first.

Harry pushed away the bitter memories, fixed Susan's house in his mind and vanished, taking Baggins along with him.


	4. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Lucas opened his eyes as the dizzying black vortex was replaced by dull sunlight and clouded skies.

He let go of Harry's arm and looked around, curious. Godric's Hollow was famous in the wizarding world for many reasons; Lord Voldemort being vanquished here by an infant was chief among them. Lucas remembered visiting the village with his parents when he was very young.

Houses of all sizes had been built next to a paved road that ran the length of the town. There was an old church located in front of a small graveyard, which was well-known all by itself. A traditional well, still in use, provided the community with fresh water, and the small forest to the east gave way to rolling hills that rose and fell in the distance.

Godric's Hollow had looked serenely at the twenty-first century and said, "No thanks." It was one of the few places in England where wizards lived more or less in the open, with children flying on brooms in the backyard and witches charming their gardens to be greener, more colourful and exotic than the neighbor's.

"Beautiful, isn't it? Even in this weather."

Lucas nodded distractedly.

"The house is over there." Harry pointed at a modest building about half a mile from where they stood. "Come on."

They began the short trek towards the Boot's house. Harry set a leisured pace and Lucas matched it, pulling at the neck of his stiff red cloak as he began to sweat in the damp, heavy air. He tried to relax and enjoy the sights, but the ghosts of Godric's Hollow came unbidden to his mind.

It was said that right here, by the two great oaks that formed a cross with their thick trunks, Neville Longbottom had beaten Severus Snape himself in a duel to the death. A week later Dementors had razed the town, damning the souls of a third of the population. And there, by the edge of the forest, the enraged citizens of Godric's Hollow had banded together to destroy the infamous giant Gorgerl…

Lucas peeled his eyes away from the forest and shuddered. He reminded himself that the past was the past, and that he was casually walking next to Harry Potter himself, a veritable legend within the DMLE. He should be asking questions left and right, not daydreaming about death.

Before he could think of a suitable subject, however, Harry spoke.

"What can you tell me about this Musician?"

Lucas thought about it for a moment. "Don't know," he answered, quickly shifting mental gears. "There's not much to tell, really. I don't have access to all case files but I'm sure we don't have any solid information on him. What do you want to know?"

Harry shrugged. "Whatever you can share helps."

"Well, most of what I know concerns what he's done, though you seem to know all that already. You must have an excellent source within the office."

Harry smiled blandly. There would be no comments on that topic. Lucas had expected as much. He fumbled for something else to say.

"Um, the name is interesting enough," Lucas put in. "It's a bit melodramatic , but it fits. All witnesses reported hearing someone whistling during the estimated time of murder, though no one has managed to see him."

Lucas lapsed into silence as the files he'd taken a peek at danced before his eyes. The relaxed and uncaring whistling unnerved him more than anything else about the case. The Musician was playing a game and enjoying every second of it. He could picture him standing before the closed door of his next victim's home, whistling a sad melody while pondering who would be the first to die.

He banished the thought and glanced at Harry, who was waiting expectantly for him to continue.

"I suppose there's the fact that he seems to kill in pairs," Lucas suggested. "Well, not precisely pairs. More like everyone living in the same space."

Harry looked interested. "How so?"

Lucas stood a little straighter. "For example, the fourth murder took place in a flat in London. He killed two Muggles who were roommates. A week later, he broke into an old witch's house and killed her and her Healer. There are no blood, economical, political or familiar links between the victims."

"And why is this significant?"

"Because it suggest he just wants the attention. He picks a place, kills everyone, and it has the added benefit that it's completely random and untraceable. It's all a big game to him. It's important to keep this in mind."

Harry nodded, pleased. "I quite agree."

Lucas realized Harry had been encouraging him to share his thoughts, something Trainees weren't expected to do. He flushed, nodded and pretended to be very interested in the road that led to the house.

"I was thinking along similar lines," Harry told Lucas, who turned to look at him as they walked. "He seems to kill randomly. In all previous murders he made sure to kill everyone that lived in the same space. So why is this last one different?"

"Could it be because… Well, because he wanted you to, uh, become involved?"

Harry nodded and frowned in the direction of the two storey house in the distance. They fell silent.

"Yes," Harry abruptly agreed, expressionless. "I wasn't playing along, so he had to do something about that. He seems to know me well. He picked the exact target that would get me involved. But why not kill Terry as well? He was right there…"

Harry's expression clouded. Lucas was suddenly reminded of all the stories he'd heard about Harry Potter's days as an Auror. The man who had kindly asked for his name didn't match the image Lucas had formed of him over the years. It was said that he had killed more Death Eaters than the legendary Mad-Eye Moody had managed to arrest during the course of his whole career.

Worried about the southward turn Harry's mood had taken, Lucas said, "But we're one step ahead of him, aren't we? He doesn't know you were already looking for him, keeping track of his movements. He thinks you're just getting started, when in truth you're closer than he can possibly imagine, right?"

Harry gave Lucas a smile that showed he knew what the trainee was trying to do; nonetheless the storm melted away from his face.

"Indeed," he said amiably and patted him on the shoulder. "One step ahead indeed. Thank you, Lucas."

Lucas tried not to look too pleased.

They turned left on a dirt path that branched off the main road just as the first peals of thunder boomed above Godric's Hollow. Thick droplets pattered down. Harry rang the doorbell.

Seconds later a tall man in his forties warily opened the door. He was thin and gangly and had the look of someone who rarely ventured outdoors. His eyes were grey and sunken, his hair a mess of brown already showing the first grays. He peered at Lucas with a frown, then brightened considerably when Harry came into view.

"Harry Potter."

Harry stepped forward. "Hi, Terry."

Lucas stayed at a polite distance as the two men shared a tight embrace. Harry whispered something and Terry's arms tightened around him. At last they stood apart and Harry gestured at him.

"Terry, this is Lucas Baggins, Auror trainee. Lucas, meet Professor Terry Boot."

"An honor to meet you, Professor."

"Likewise," said Terry, rubbing his eyes as he opened the door wider. "Please come in."

Lucas felt deeply uncomfortable as Harry and he stepped inside. He was an intruder in a private reunion. Not even the fact that he had been invited by Harry Potter himself soothed his anxiety; it in fact made it worse.

Terry Boot didn't seem the sort of person who went into too much trouble when it came to décor, but evidently someone had. The feminine touch was in the drapes, carpet and upholstery. There was an old TV set, too, which surprised Lucas; not many wizards cared for it. The living room looked quite inviting. Lucas could picture the late Susan Bones having tea with her friends around that small coffee table.

"Uncle Harry!"

A small girl bounded down the stairs and rushed towards Harry, who knelt down to pick her up. She squealed delightedly as he threw her in the air and then caught her. Harry smiled. It was the first honest smile Lucas had seen on the older Auror's face, and he marveled at how the years seemed to melt out of his whole bearing, reminding him that despite appearances, Harry Potter wasn't even fifty years old yet.

"And how are we today, tiny witch?"

The girl smiled. "Excellent! Daddy forgot his wand in the kitchen!"

Lucas saw Professor Boot swallow thickly and turn his face away while his daughter was focused on Harry, who frowned severely at her.

"Has little Tammy been casting spells on the cat again?"

Tamara buried her face on Harry's shoulder. She shook with laughter. "No!"

"Liar!"

Professor Boot, his face blank as a statue, pointed his wand at the kitchen and porcelain cups, a kettle and some scones came flying smoothly towards the living room. Meanwhile, Harry blew raspberries on the giggling girl's neck.

Lucas clenched his jaw and made to follow them into the living room, but was struck by a sense of familiarity with the scene. The girl must have been eight years old or so. Surely no older than he had been. Lucas was painfully aware of how his flushed face must have looked.

Not wanting anybody to see him – especially not Harry Potter – he quietly opened the front door and stepped outside. He let the door close behind him and rested the back of his head against the wall, just listening to the rain hammering the countryside.

It wasn't long before the door opened again and out came Harry. There were no traces of a smile on his face, nothing to suggest he might have been happy just a moment ago.

Lucas made sure to face away from him, into the rain, and whispered, "How do you do it?"

"Practice."

"I didn't know they had a daughter." Lucas sighed. "Does she know?"

Harry did not reply. It was answer enough for Lucas. He glanced at the Auror and was infuriated to see the same calm expression he had worn all morning.

"You don't approve."

Lucas looked away, embarrassed that he'd been found staring.

"I – No, it's not that."

"So, what is it?"

Lucas shook his head. "It's none of my business, sir." He swallowed. "Or yours, for that matter. I'm sorry."

Harry snorted. "I'll be inside, kid. Take your time, then come join us."

A few minutes later, Lucas found the three sitting around a small table in the living room. Tamara sat contentedly on Harry's lap and didn't seem inclined to move. Professor boot had taken an armchair for himself and was sipping his tea in silence, watching Harry tickle his daughter.

Fighting to keep his expression neutral, Lucas walked around the table and looked at Terry Boot. "I apologize, Professor Boot. I did not mean to disrespect you or yours."

Professor Boot waved the apology distractedly and gestured for him to sit next to Harry. "Mr. Baggins, this is my daughter Tamara. Tamara, say hello to Lucas Baggins."

The girl took a quick peek at him with her cheek pressed to Harry's chest and waved. Lucas waved back.

"Terry started teaching two years after you graduated," Harry commented. Lucas could tell he was merely filling the silence, but he was grateful for it. "Poor old Filius was in no shape to lead a class, particularly the advanced ones. That leg of his… Nasty curse. I hear Terry is doing a fantastic job though. Isn't he?"

"Daddy is the best! He can make mommy's dresses dance like in the telly."

Lucas nodded. He remembered Filius Flitwick's class very well. The small Professor had been a bundle of energy despite his age, but his injuries had shown. He wondered if retirement suited him.

"Sorry. I'm afraid there's not much to eat," Professor Boot said as he gestured around the table. "Help yourselves."

Lucas felt like he should say something, tell Professor Boot how sorry he was for his loss. But the words died in his throat every time he tried and little Tamara looking curiously at him didn't help matters. He fidgeted with the tea bag and studied the room, avoiding looking at Terry Boot, who sat stiffly on his chair, his expression utterly composed and empty.

He, Lucas Baggins, was having tea with two of the seven Survivors.

The silence grew heavy for him, but Professor Boot and Harry didn't seem to mind. They drank their tea in small sips and occasionally looked at each other. Lucas thought they were beyond mere words. He felt a little jealous of that sort of relationship.

"I don't know why he didn't…include me," said Professor Boot, seemingly out of the blue. Tamara looked at her father and Harry, back and forth. Harry nodded along, staring at the floor. "A Healer saw me this morning, said I'd been in an enchanted sleep for six hours." He swallowed. "It was…"

He couldn't finish, but Lucas' mind picked up where he left. And he could picture the scene in sickening detail; The Musician creeping into the bedroom, forcing Professor Boot to sleep before murdering his wife, the whistling music rising and falling with the last beats of Susan Bones' heart. Hours later the man had woken up to a pool of blood.

Harry's hands shook, rattling the empty porcelain cup, and Lucas figured the older Auror was thinking along similar lines. Lucas looked at him expecting to see the tears that had been noticeably absent all morning. Instead, Harry was glaring holes through the ceiling of the living room.

"I need to see it," he whispered and stood, handing a protesting Tamara to her father. Harry placed a hand on Professor Boot's shoulder and squeezed gently. "I'll be back in five minutes."

Lucas was about to follow when Harry gestured for him to stay with Professor Boot. He thought it wouldn't make much of a difference either way; the man had lapsed into silence, staring into the depths of his empty tea mug as he absently rocked his daughter. But he nodded agreeably at Harry and tried to convey his support with thoughts alone.

_So out of my depth here_, thought Lucas. Harry's footsteps faded as he climbed the stairs and vanished from view. _Merlin, why did I agree to come?_

"He's not as callous as most people seem to think," Professor Boot stated into the silence. Lucas looked up at him, but the man was still staring absently at his tea. "He hides it because he has to. And he hides it well. But he's sensitive – maybe too much. That's what makes him so good an Auror."

The silence threatened to fall again. Lucas shifted uncomfortably, unsure of how much he should say. He was the only one in the room, aside from the small child, who looked on the verge of falling asleep, yet he felt the Professor's words were not for him.

"He blames himself, doesn't he?" Lucas whispered.

Professor Boot smiled sadly at that. "Always," he said in that same half-empty, half-reminiscent tone. "He feels responsible for the six of us. A part of him knows it's not his fault, but the part that matters…" He sighed and finally looked up at Lucas. "I – I don't know what… I'm afraid of what will happen next."

The Professor retreated into himself while his daughter fell asleep on his lap. His empty eyes locked onto the TV screen, staring at nothing, and Lucas was glad he couldn't see what the Professor did. Some Muggle program projected coloured light through the dusty glass, absent sound. Lucas stared at it in matching silence.

A large crimson stain spread at the foot of the bed. The carpet hadn't been able to absorb all of the blood, so parts of it ran under the bed and dresser, forming sticky puddles that had yet to dry. Susan's body had already been taken to the morgue. Harry didn't need it to see her ashen face staring vacantly at him.

The blood was an alien stain on an otherwise regular bedroom. The wooden dressers were closed and neat, the bedside tables in line with the clean, if unmade, bed, a rather dull painting of a sea in storm was fixed evenly on the wall, and red drapes billowed in the wind from an open window that faced the backyard.

But of course the Musician hadn't touched anything else. After all, only one domino need fall.

Harry pulled open the drapes and looked out at the yard. He studied it intently. There was little cover from that small forest at the back to the open window. On a quiet night in this sleepy town, however, none would be needed.

Magic had a way of rendering most environments more or less irrelevant. The spells used would tell far more than the room itself. Unfortunately, it was almost impossible to determine such things without the wand used to channel the magic.

Harry sat at the foot of the bed and closed his eyes. The rain hammered on the clay tiles and the window pane, steady and relaxing. He tried to empty his mind, let his senses feel out the room.

Tammy's magic was the freshest. It buzzed against his skin like static on a radio; no technique or finesse to it, merely intent and excitement. It was just shy from accidental magic. The rather complex web around the door was a little older. He could practically smell his friend's magic. It was some sort of locking charm, mixed with a mild compulsion to stay away.

Then there was pain.

It was thick and oily. It clung to everything, to the air itself. Harry's hairs stood on end. He could see the relentless grey slashes of light, tearing and hacking through flesh and bone, burrowing into the hardwood floor itself. And it dug deeper. Results were not enough. There had to be a message to it. Raw and primal, nothing holding it back, just the thrilling rush of power and the helpless screams for help that no one would ever hear…

Harry's eyes flew open. He leaned his elbows on his knees, breathing hard. A thin layer of sweat covered his arms and face.

After a moment spent composing himself, Harry was closing the bedroom door when he heard Lucas' voice.

"Mr. Potter! Come see this! Quick!"

The words sent a jolt of excitement up his spine. Had the trainee spotted something he hadn't? He hurried down the stairs and into the living room.

Terry and Lucas sat where he'd left them. Tammy was stirring from sleep. The TV was still on, but no longer muted. A reporter was commenting on some spectacular footage that had just been aired.

"What is it?" Harry whispered, frowning at the TV set.

"Listen."

The three of them watched intently.

"– _and while the authenticity of this footage is still in question, we advise parents out there that the contents are nonetheless very disturbing. The video was presumably shot last week by thirty-year-old Gerard Jiggs, a paleontologist who was excavating in Scotland and managed to capture the event using his mobile phone."_

The studio gave way to a blurry, dark image of some underground place. It was hard to follow the jerky movements of the camera, but the sounds were unmistakable; men screamed in naked terror and shouted at something and cried out in pain. Harry felt a chill run down his body as a bright light suddenly flooded the screen, bathing the living room in sickly green.

The last screams died and the camera began shaking. A panicked breathing could barely be heard. And then, clear as day, Harry heard a haunted whistling, the lilting notes swept away by the whispering wind.

Lucas turned wide eyes to him. "Is that…?"

Harry had half-hoped he had been imagining it. He nodded and glanced at Terry, who sat frozen on his seat, his eyes still glued to the screen.

The image paused on an opening on the ground, the purpling dusk a contrast to the darkness of the underground cave. There, hardly visible, was a figure cloaked in shadow that seemed to be looking straight at the camera.

"Come on, Lucas," said Harry. "We have to go."

Lucas jumped to his feet at once. Harry crossed the length of the room and switched off the TV before the footage could be played again. Terry didn't seem to be all there. Harry took the half-empty tea mug from his hands and knelt in front of him.

"Terry, listen to me." Harry's words were clipped and urgent, keeping his voice low for Tammy's benefit. "I need you to do me a favour."

Terry seemed to come back to himself. "He was there. He killed the Muggles."

Harry stood. "He did that and more," he explained. "I need you to go to Hogwarts and ask McGonagall to contact Filius. Tell her Filius needs to come to the Ministry as soon as possible."

"Uh, sure," Terry said. "Alright. Yes. I'll go right now."

He seemed to understand Harry's urgency. He slowly stood up, passed a grumpy Tammy to Harry and fetched his coat. He came back to the living room looking invigorated. "Portkey?"

Harry pulled out his wand and tapped it on a button on Tammy's white blouse. It glowed blue for a second. Tammy gasped and grinned blearily up at him.

"Two-way to Hogsmeade," said Harry as he kissed the girl's hair and put her into her father's arms. "You know the password."

Terry hugged Harry again and thanked him for coming. Their eyes met as he stepped back, and Harry saw there the same fire he'd seen in the Minister's calculating eyes. Harry drew strength from it and nodded with finality. "I promise."

"Thank you."

Terry then shook Lucas' hand, whispered something and vanished in a flash of blue light.

Harry stood staring at the place his friend had occupied a moment ago, trying to put a stop to the raging thoughts that raced through his mind. He shook his head, gestured for Lucas to follow and stepped outside.

It was still drizzling, though nothing compared to the outpour of a few minutes before. Harry pulled on his cloak and started walking.

"Lucas, do you understand the situation?"

The trainee was close to jogging in his effort to keep up with Harry. "I'm not sure I do, sir."

"We have been fooled, Lucas," explained Harry. "Rather, we were very nearly fooled. We need to get a hold of that mobile phone right now."

"I'm sorry, sir. I still don't quite understand."

"He's trying to start a war." Harry grimaced. "I'm not sure why, but that's what it looks like."

"A war?"

"What do you think the Ministry would've done to the Goblin community for murdering a group of Muggle archeologists?"

"They broke the Statute of Secrecy," breathed Lucas as realization dawned on him. He came to a stop and Harry turned to face him. "I mean, not them. But he made it look like them."

Harry nodded. "So, we need that mobile phone," he repeated. "Failing that, we need the survivor's memories. The Musician knows this. He'll be going after both."

Lucas was shaking. The kid swallowed thickly and asked, "What do we do?"

Harry thought for a long moment. A plan took shape.

"You will go to the Ministry," he said. "You will find Barrock and tell him about what we saw – odds are he's been told already, but just in case. Tell him that I'll do my best to find out where this witness of ours is being held and let him know. He knows how to contact me in case he finds out where to go before I do."

Lucas nodded firmly. "Yes, sir. Good luck, sir."

Harry grabbed Lucas' arm before the trainee could disapparate. "The Musician took out two fully-trained Aurors by himself. He's dangerous, Lucas, and the things he did in that room…" He let go of Lucas' arm. "Just make sure you impress upon Barrock that he would do well to wait for me. Understood?"

The trainee nodded again and vanished.

Harry stood in the rain for a moment and considered where to begin. He stared vacantly at the empty house at the bottom of the hill. It had been a happy place, once. Harry remembered Susan hosting her best friend's seventeenth birthday in this house. Hannah was killed three weeks later.

He shook his head. He was wasting valuable time. He could figure out the details while he moved. After all, who knew how long they had been airing the same footage? The Musician could have been aware of the witness for hours already.

Harry tightened the grip on his wand and vanished.


	5. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

"Paul!" yelled Harry as he knocked on the door for the third time.

A bemused man wearing a bathrobe opened the door. He was well over sixty years old and looked it. His grey hair was mussed from sleep, his eyes bloodshot and tired. Harry frowned worriedly. Paul seemed to have aged a decade since they last spoke.

It hadn't been a decade, had it?

"Good afternoon, Paul. I'm sorry to drop by unannounced."

"Harry?"

Harry smiled patiently. "It's me, Dr. Granger. May I?"

Paul Granger shuffled back and held the door open. Harry stepped inside but didn't shrug out of his cloak. The living room looked the same as always; the two white sofas, the armchairs around the fireplace, a large TV set and a monstrous stereo with two matching speakers, flanked by glass cabinets containing everything from beverages to photographs.

The thin layer of dust on shelves, photographs and paintings was a new addition. He made a mental note to owl Hermione as soon as he had time.

"Good to see you, Harry," said Mr. Granger, locking the door. He gestured at him. "Come, come. I have the kettle going."

Harry followed Mr. Granger into the kitchen.

"Tea?"

"No, thank you, Mr. Granger. I'm sort of in a rush, actually."

Mr. Granger raised his eyebrows. "Not a friendly visit then?"

Harry smiled apologetically. "I'm afraid not, sir."

"Ah, no matter. So, what can I help you with?"

Harry considered how to best phrase the question. There wasn't enough time for a full explanation.

"I need to know about Muggle hospitals and procedure. Specifically, I need to know where a patient would end up in and what factors would determine that."

"I see," said Mr. Granger, dipping the tea bag in the boiling water. If he found anything odd about the question, it didn't show. "Well, as they say, it's pretty much 'location, location, location'."

Harry had thought as much. "What else can you tell me?"

"It depends on what is wrong with the patient. Some hospitals, particularly the ones in remote places, aren't suited to treating some diseases or injuries. If there is no risk in moving the patient, a physician will often recommend relocating the patient to where they'll receive the best treatment available." He smiled at Harry. "Not everyone can teleport all over the country to bring supplies and trained physicians."

Harry swore. He should have thought of that. Of course he hadn't found the witness in one of the hospitals near the excavation site. As best as he could tell from the footage they had seen at Terry's house, the witness' injuries, if any, had not been physical. Transporting such a patient would not present serious risk.

He had wasted twenty minutes jumping around general hospitals when his quarry would most likely be in a psychiatric institution.

"Thank you, Mr. Granger. You've been a great help." He pushed away from the counter, ready to leave. "One more question. Where would you send a victim of severe post-traumatic shock in northern Scotland?"

"Whether they move him or not would depend on the severity of the trauma. How bad are we talking here?"

Harry grimaced. In his mind's eye, he saw the flash of green light and heard the dying screams.

"Pretty bloody bad."

Mr. Granger sipped his tea in silence for a moment. He studied Harry. The set of his shoulders and the lines of his face. He seemed to reach some sort of conclusion.

"Ayr Hospital," Mr. Granger said. "I can't guarantee this person you're looking for will be there, but I can tell you that Ayr is where I would look first."

Harry nodded and shook hands with the man. This time he didn't bother with the door. Before Mr. Granger could say anything, Harry twisted on the spot and vanished.

At once he was walking down the Atrium in the Ministry, London.

It was past five already. Ministry workers made a beeline for the apparition areas and fireplaces. Harry forced his way through the throng of witches and wizards going in the opposite way, heading towards the elevator.

"Sir! Sir, they left!"

Lucas stood on the security desk's chair. The Auror stationed there glared at the trainee, who ignored him in favor of waving anxiously at Harry.

"How long?"

"Twenty minutes ago!"

Harry turned left, pushing past the disgruntled Ministry workers. "Who and where?"

"Yen's team. Barrock went with them. They went to Ayr Hospital. I'm not sure where it is."

Harry swore and stopped walking. Yen's team. Six talented Aurors with a particular gift for violent, quick magic against the Musician, just one man. Barrock was with them. It sounded easy, reasonable. It sounded like it would be enough. But something inside Harry screamed desperately for him to move, to get there before it was too late.

"You, Auror," said Harry to the man in red watching the exchange with undisguised curiosity. "Go to St. Mungo's and take five Healers to Ayr Hospital in Scotland."

The Auror tensed at the commanding tone. "But I –"

"Was assigned down here?" finished Harry. "Don't worry about that. Do as I requested please."

The man was about to argue again. Harry frowned at him. The Auror opened and closed his mouth, torn. He glanced at Lucas, who shrugged at him.

The Auror sighed. "Alright, Mr. Potter. Two minutes. Mind the desk, will you?"

As soon as the man had lost himself in the crowd of people heading for the fireplaces, Harry gestured at Lucas to follow him.

"We're not going to mind the desk, are we?" asked Lucas.

"No."

"So, what are we doing?"

Harry felt like breaking something. Preferably on Barrock's head.

"We're going to pull Barrock's arse out of the fire," said Harry.

Lucas' eyes bulged. "We are? I mean, me included?"

Harry stalked through the crowd in too much of a hurry to pay attention to the people he was roughly pushing out of the way. His mind was elsewhere. Why would Barrock opt to keep him out of the loop now of all times?

"You definitely told Barrock I wanted to be informed of the witness' location, right?" Harry asked.

Lucas nodded nervously. "I did! As soon as I saw him. First thing I said, I swear."

"I believe you. But you're still coming with me."

"Alright. Do you know where the hospital is? I've never been there."

Harry grimaced. "I've visited too many hospitals. Just take my arm, please."

They pushed past a group of Goblins going in the opposite direction and finally reached the apparition area. Harry wasted no time, and when Lucas next opened his eyes, they were looking at a large, white modern building with a parking lot next to it, littered with cars and ambulances.

Harry swore. "Too quiet."

The automatic glass door of the main building opened and closed of its own accord. There was no one in sight. A Scottish flag drooped from its pole, hanging miserably in the still air.

Lucas' heart hammered in his chest. He didn't feel ready for this.

Harry took the lead. He walked past the erratic glass doors, and Lucas followed. The reception desk was empty, papers were scattered on the floor. Lucas waited behind Harry as he leaned over the desk and then shook his head. Lucas decided he didn't want to see it, whatever it was.

"Wands out. That way."

Harry gestured to the left, where an open hallway led to the East wing of the building. There was a streak of wet blood on the wall. Lucas looked pointedly away, drew his wand in shaky fingers and followed Harry.

"You are not here to fight," said Harry in a level tone as they walked. "You are here to tend to the wounded, get them out if necessary. But if I tell you to run, you run. If I am overpowered and tell you to save yourself, you do as I say. Understand?"

Lucas wiped a sleeve on his brow and nodded quickly. He tried not to picture a scenario in which Harry Potter was overpowered. What hope did he have of escaping alive if that happened?

The hallway got progressively messier as they advanced. There was little blood or bodies. _Thank Merlin for that_, thought Lucas. But there were enough scorch marks, torn hospital equipment and missing doors to leave no doubt as to what had happened.

They reached a fork in their path. The signs of struggle immediately pointed to the right. Harry and Lucas picked up their pace. At the end of the hallway there was a closed door. The sounds of a fight reached their ears as they got closer. A streak of light whipped past the windows on the door. Lucas' knees felt weak.

"Shield yourself and go to the wounded. They should be to the right."

Harry pointed his wand at the door and it blew apart, flying across the ward to smash against the opposite wall. The shouting increased in volume. A few last spells buzzed around the room and died away. Lucas filed past Harry and took a good look at the scene while everybody paused in mid-action.

Yen and Barrock were the only ones still standing. Yen's right arm had turned an alarming shade of grey. The Head Auror's uniform was scorched black on his left side. They stood amidst a pile of bodies. Lucas couldn't tell whether any of them were alive.

On the opposite side of the room stood an average-looking man in his twenties. His robe was a dark blue, unblemished save for some white dust. He looked calmly at the new arrivals, his face a cool, detached mask. His clear eyes tracked Harry's every move.

By the entrance, Harry took one look around the room and gritted his teeth. He locked eyes with Barrock, who raised his chin and made an effort to stand straighter. Now that Lucas looked closely, an angry red patch of blistered skin covered his neck and plunged into the charred side of his red robe.

"Lucas, get them out." He looked pointedly at Yen's decaying arm. "All of them."

"Yes, sir."

Across the room, the Musician laughed. "Now, now. No need to rush, Harry Potter. You've barely just arrived!"

Harry looked at Lucas, who nodded shakily and moved over to the pile of unconscious – hopefully – bodies.

"Go," Barrock told Yen. "We'll take it from here."

Yen looked from the Musician's cool, satisfied smile to Harry. He took hold of his cursed arm and bowed his head at Harry. Then he nodded, turned on the spot…

Barrock and Lucas flinched as Yen simply exploded in a gory mess of flesh, blood and bone. The corner of the room became a crimson stain in a white background. The Musician chuckled quietly from the opposite side.

"No…" Barrock dropped to his knees where his friend had stood. He began muttering incoherently. Next to him, Lucas retched violently. Both were covered in blood and worse.

Harry closed his eyes briefly and exhaled through gritted teeth. "I won't forget that, Death Eater."

The Musician smirked. "You have become sharp, Potter. Would you like to further narrow your pool of suspects?"

"Lucas, levitate them out the hole." Harry walked to the middle of the room and stood between the survivors and the Musician. "Go on, now."

"Uh, what hole?"

Barrock abruptly stood up, whipped his wand at the wall and spat two words. The thick wall exploded outwards in a shower of bent steel and concrete. Car alarms blared in the parking lot.

Lucas nodded shakily. "Oh. Yes, sir."

"Now, now, none of that," said the Musician. "I would like to keep my hostages close, if you don't mind."

Ignoring the man, Harry said, "How's the burn?"

"Tickles," replied Barrock. But despite his words, the Head Auror grunted as he limped to stand next to Harry. His face was drenched in sweat. "Let's take him. Fast and hard."

Lucas glanced at their backs as he labored to levitate the unconscious bodies to the street. The Musician watched attentively but made no move to stop the trainee. His blue eyes kept darting back to Harry's wand hand, completely ignoring Barrock.

Harry eyed Barrock's burnt side and grimaced. "I'm sorry for this."

"What –"

Barrock raised his wand defensively but was too slow. Harry tapped him once on his forehead and the man went limp. With a gentle nudge, he sent him hovering towards Lucas, who managed to catch and remove him from the building.

The Musician snorted. "What arrogance. You do not even know who you are facing."

"I know exactly who I'm facing," Harry replied.

The man smiled a sharp smile. "And who would that be?"

With no warning, Harry's opening spell shot like a cannon towards his opponent. Thirty feet behind him, Lucas felt the blast of displaced air blow past him, raising the hair on his arms. The orderly he had been levitating dropped boneless to the floor and groaned in protest.

At the last second, the Musician vanished and reappeared farther to the right, unharmed. His angry scowl revealed a hint of surprise. Harry's spell shot the length of the room and punched a fist-sized hole in the wall. A split-second later, there was a bright flash and the ground trembled.

"You will not even attempt to capture me?" hissed the Musician.

The whispering reached the edge of Lucas' hearing. Unlike the footage they had watched earlier, there was no rhythm to it now, just a series of low and high notes, brief and urgent.

"This is what you wanted, isn't it?" said Harry, unperturbed by the man's wand glowing dark green in his direction. He began walking towards the Musician. "You called. I came. I have promises to keep, Death Eater. Start cursing or drop that wand."

The Musician straightened, raised his wand and gave Harry a small bow of his head, as if conceding a point. "Very well, then, Potter. Good for you. You are less like Dumbledore than I thought."

The words seemed to give Harry pause. Lucas watched wide-eyed as the distraction almost cost Harry his life.

The cold lights of the hospital flickered on and off for a moment. At the same time, a crooked length of wire and steel wrapped itself around Harry's legs, tightening audibly. The Musician wasted no time before launching a volley of curses at Harry.

One after the other, the man's magic raged towards him. There was hardly a pause between them. The end of one spell's movement flowed seamlessly into the beginning of the next, blurring the line between them, making them harder to anticipate and defend against.

Trapped in place, Harry raised his wand and countered them.

All of them.

Lucas was aware that he had stopped levitating the unconscious Aurors and hospital staff. He simply stared with wide eyes as Harry countered the Musician's curses almost before they left the man's wand.

The last of a flurry of spells vanished into thin air. Harry waved his wand once and the trap holding him in place disappeared.

"You seem to be somewhat out of your league," Harry said into the silence that followed.

Lucas could practically feel the heat of the Musician's anger from across the room. The whispering slithered against his senses. It was more than mere sound now. It grated physically against his skin and set his teeth on edge.

"I admit," the Musician ground out, "that this is somewhat unexpected. I should have accounted for it. Naturally, the last time we fought you were barely more than a child."

A pause. "Was I?"

"So the great Harry Potter isn't omniscient after all. A bit of a let down."

Once again Harry struck with no warning. His wand flashed silver in a wide arc and a storm of debris rocketed off the ground at an angle. The Musician let loose a stream of fire which burnt a hole through Harry's attack, spewing heat and flame like a hose. But before it could do any harm, Harry jabbed his wand upwards and the fire crashed harmlessly into the ceiling, spreading in all directions.

Lucas flinched from the heat and light and directed his wand at the last body on his side of the room. An errant spell whipped past his head. He did his best to ignore the destruction and nudged the unconscious Auror – was that Gayam? – out of the building.

"Mr. Potter! It's done!" cried Lucas.

Harry half-turned and nodded. "Wait outside," he said over his shoulder. "The Healers should be here soon."

The Musician's next curse tore a trench in the ground, throwing off steam and red hot gravel, narrowly missing its mark. Harry waved his wand at the ground and began closing the distance with his opponent. Around him, the melting scraps of gravel rose off the ground, glittering like angry stars. Harry countered the Musician's last volley and then motioned the glowing gravel forward with his off hand.

The molten rock shot towards the Musician, who was forced to produce a physical shield to defend against it. Harry looked on calmly as the flaming bits bounced off the man's shield. There was sweat dripping down the Musician's soot-stained face.

Harry raised his wand one last time. "It's over. Drop it and come quietly."

Lucas froze. There it was again. The whispers. They didn't sound random now. There was a pattern to them. Maybe if he could get closer and pay more attention… Yes, that would be just the thing. No doubt he owed Harry at least this since he hadn't aided in the fight at all.

As the Musician panted heavily behind his shield, Lucas turned and began unsteadily walking in the opposite direction to the hole in the wall. Harry had told him to go. It sounded like a good idea. But he had to help him, didn't he?

"I won't say it again, Death Eater," Harry said. A golden flame enveloped the tip of his wand. "Drop the shield and wand. It is over –"

The whispers rose in volume. It spoke a scathing screech, like a jarring break in an empty melody. The Musician's clear eyes left Harry and met Lucas', who suddenly dropped to his knees, madly clawing at his throat. Harry hesitated but moved to the trainee's side.

The Musician dropped his shield, raised his wand and gave it two horizontal slashes. Twin scythes of black light sliced effortlessly through the inner walls of the hospital. Before Harry could do more than raise his wand, the whole building shook.

At last Lucas took a rattling breath and dimly heard the Musician say something. There was a pause in which he felt a pair of strong hands take hold of his shoulders. Then there was an audible crack and the insidious whispers faded from his awareness.

"What…?" Lucas gasped. He was on his feet somehow, slowly ambling towards the hole in the wall. The racket of tortured steel reached his ears. "What happened?"

Suddenly he realized Harry was screaming. The fact that it was the first time he had ever heard the older Auror raise his voice startled Lucas into full awareness.

"Run, you fool! Go, go!"

Heart pounding and still coughing, Lucas set off as fast as he could. He chanced to look over his shoulder and saw Harry keeping pace with him. Behind them, a shower of debris poured into the ground floor, spilling everywhere, which was in turn overtaken by more debris that collapsed from the uppers floors.

Lucas ran as hard as he could. The hole drew nearer, and yet the building would not last. He wasn't going to make it. He had tried. He was just too exhausted. His legs weren't moving as fast as they ought to. Best to step to the side and at least clear the path for Harry.

Before he knew it, Lucas soared right out of the hole and crashed painfully into the damp grass. The Aurors and hospital staff he had levitated outside were all around him. A plume of white dust billowed past him, and for a moment he thought that Harry had sacrificed his last spell to propel him out of the building.

But when he turned and propped himself up on his elbows, Harry was there standing in front of him, facing the building. He had both hands raised towards the demolished hospital and appeared to be chanting something.

"Thank you…" Lucas whispered.

Harry wasn't listening, focused as he was. Lucas shakily stood and produced his own wand. It had escaped miraculously unscathed from the fall. He aimed it at the massive cloud of white dust.

"_Vento. Vento Tonaro_."

The breeze picked up to a stiff wind. It began slowly clearing the thick cloud of dust, dispersing it to the south. Sections of the building were revealed, one after the other. The results were discouraging.

At some point the team of Healers and Aurors appeared. Dizzy from the sustained effort, Lucas dropped to the ground and sat there, groggily staring at his surroundings as bodies were grabbed and flashed away. Harry yet stood before the building with his arms raised to the sides like a conductor before an orchestra, only the orchestra was battered and falling and half the musicians were missing.

As a grim-faced Auror made her way out of the building carrying a small child, Lucas realized with a start that Harry was single-handedly supporting the weakened hospital to give the Aurors time to retrieve more bodies from other floors.

What seemed like an eternity later, Harry let his hands fall to the side and sat down heavily next to Lucas. He was breathing hard and there was a thin line of blood running down his forehead. In an instant, the hospital let out a final dying groan and the last floor collapsed in a fresh plume of white dust.

"Glad you made it out," Harry said.

"You too." Lucas coughed and made an effort to swallow. He tasted dirt and dust and blood. "How many do you think…?"

Harry grimaced. "Most. Too many."

"And he got away, didn't he?" Feeling miserable, the trainee stared at the grass. There was blood on it. "I'm so sorry. He was whispering something and I just couldn't turn away…"

He felt a hand on his shoulder and looked up to meet Harry's eyes. "You did well, Lucas. Better than I could reasonably expect." The older Auror offered him a tired smile. "And at the very least, he doesn't have our witness. With any luck we might have avoided a bloody conflict with the goblins."

Lucas nodded. "There is that, I guess."

Despite what he was told, he still knew he'd made a mess of things. There was no way he'd still be apprenticed to the Aurors come the next day. Maybe it was for the best. He wasn't cut out for this kind of thing.

A thought struck him.

"Mr. Potter, what did he say?" Lucas asked.

"Pardon?"

"Before he somehow managed to disapparate without... I mean, Yen tried..." Lucas trailed off, losing focus of where he was going. He made an effort to explain. "Before he left, he said something to you. What was it? And how was he even apparating in there?"

Harry grimaced. "He told me to choose."

"Choose?"

"Between you and him. There wasn't enough time for both."

"Oh." Lucas frowned. "You should have picked him. But...thank you."

"None of that," Harry said easily. "I am convinced I made the right choice. And I expect you to prove it to me soon enough."

Lucas felt touched but didn't quite know how to respond to that, so he didn't. "But what about Yen and disapparating...?"

This time Harry looked back at the demolished hospital and frowned. A storm brewed on his face. "The Dark Mark. Voldemort used to tilt battles in his followers' favor by laying down wards. Only his Death Eaters could apparate in and out of them."

"But that means..." Lucas stared up in horror at Harry. "Then the Musician is really _him_?"

"Oh no, not even close," Harry replied at once. "This Musician character has some skill, but Voldemort would have wiped the floor with him any day, silly Legilimency or not. The pool of suspects is small. Trust me when I tell you that Voldemort is not one of them."

Lucas nodded, feeling a bit relieved. For a moment, they both stared in silence at the fallen building while the Aurors and Healers bustled about, moving bodies and talking in low voices. There were sirens in the distance.

"No more questions? Alright, then. Time to go." Harry stood up. He offered Lucas a hand. "Let's see about that arm of yours, eh?"

Lucas gripped Harry's hand and took unsteadily to his feet. He frowned and looked down at his left arm. There, poking out of skin and flesh in his forearm, was a sharp looking bit of bone.

"Oh. I didn't even…"

Everything went black.


	6. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

"Potter."

Harry closed the door behind him and approached Barrock, who was sitting on the bed with his back to the wall, propped up with pillows. The angry burns were on display on his bare chest. A foul smelling salve rested on a night-stand.

"What the hell was that, Barrock?"

The Head Auror looked away from him, at the magical construction of a window which faced the park. It was close to midnight. A crescent moon shone dully in the open sky.

"I assume you mean not telling you where to go. Quite frankly, I simply didn't care to."

"You could've answered the mirror. This is why I gave it to you," Harry pointed out, but he knew it was in vain. "You could've told me something."

Barrock grunted with indifference.

Harry sighed and took a seat next to the bed. He, too, gazed out the window.

"How's the burn?"

Barrock grimaced. "Nasty one. Bastard caught me with something I'd never seen before. Sort of purplish. Struck fast and seems to act slow."

"Probably Romanian Blaze," Harry said after a moment's thought. "It's used to cook dragon meat. It's…quite powerful."

Barrock twitched, almost imperceptibly. "It's done. It'll heal."

Harry nodded. They lapsed into silence for a moment, just staring out the window. Outside the private ward, they could hear doors opening and closing, and the hushed voices of the Healers as they visited their newly arrived patients. No doubt the injured Muggles and Aurors would keep them busy for a while.

"I talked to Yen's family," Harry said.

Barrock's mask cracked for a second. Yen had entered the academy almost at the same time he had. They'd been friends for decades.

"How… How'd Kim take it?"

A pause. "Not well," Harry replied. "You should talk to her."

Barrock nodded tersely. His hand closed on the fresh sheets of his bed, crumpling them in his fist. "Can't wait to get out of this bed and go find him," he spat. Then he grimaced in pain and slowly relaxed, resting his head against the bare wall. He sighed, long and hard. There was sweat on his forehead, running down the line of his jaw. "Do you ever miss it?"

"Miss what?"

"Your old job. Auror Instructor."

Harry leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes, mirroring Barrock. "Every day." Against his will, a small smile formed on his face. "Especially on Tuesdays."

Barrock snorted. "Didn't think you liked our dueling lessons."

"As a rule, they tend to be less painful when one is teaching the class. Besides, as I recall, back in the day you didn't like our dueling lessons much either."

"Well," Barrock grumbled, "not all of us were tutored by Dumbledore."

Chuckling, Harry stood up. He pushed back the chair and headed for the door. "We'll keep you posted."

"Potter, before you go," Barrock said. He gestured in Harry's direction. "First, I was told the rest of the team made it out, just barely. So I… yeah, thank you."

He sat up a little straighter, looked seriously at Harry and cleared his throat. "And second, I want you to remember that there's always a bigger fish," Barrock said. "I understand why you took me out and that you might have even been right, but that attitude will cost you one day. Stop fighting alone or you _will_ lose."

Harry stared at the man in silence for a moment. He didn't miss the irony in Barrock's words; after all, if Barrock hadn't been so confident in being able to manage without him, the Musician could already be in custody. But slowly, he nodded. He decided to take Barrock's message for what it was: _don't be like me, be better_.

"Take care, Barrock."

* * *

Lucas woke up to a dim room. There was a tang of ozone in the air. _Great. St. Mungo's._

He sat up and looked around and was disappointed to find himself alone. For some reason he had half-expected to see Harry Potter smiling placidly at him from one of the armchairs. Strange how quickly he had gotten used to the older Auror's presence.

He poked his left arm, pleased to find it very much healed, though it tingled a bit. Next he looked for his clothes, and let out a breath of relief upon finding his wand, wallet and silver cigarette case. He examined the contents fondly but snapped the lid close before he got distracted.

Letting out a huge yawn, Lucas climbed out of bed, grabbed his stained uniform and went into the loo. Time to go.

When Lucas returned, fully dressed, somewhat clean and ready for the day, Harry was there, leaning against the wall next to the door. He was staring at something he held in his hands. He looked up; his smile was exactly as Lucas had pictured it.

"Hello, sir," Lucas said.

"Good evening, Lucas. Feeling better?"

Harry stuffed the object in the breast pocket of his cloak, the same one he had been wearing earlier. Moonlight reflected off the object for a moment as Lucas followed his hands. He managed to get a glimpse of a photograph. Was that Hogwarts?

Lucas nodded. "Loads. Thank you."

"Good," said Harry, pushing away from the wall. "We've got stuff to do. Let's go."

They left the ward behind and tackled the corridor. A Healer walking in the opposite direction frowned disapprovingly at Lucas, who flashed his trainee badge at her to avoid a lecture. Harry didn't say anything. Lucas could see the corner of his mouth twitch.

"Excuse me, sir. What time is it?"

They stepped inside the elevator and began their descent. Harry answered, "Midnight."

"Oh. Alright."

Harry glanced at him. "Do you want to call it a night? I'm sure your parents must be worried."

"Uh no, sir. That's okay," said Lucas as the steel doors opened. "I live alone."

"Ah. I see. If you're sure, then."

Harry loitered in the corridor while Lucas cleared his check-out with the reception mediwitch. While she looked for forms, stamped and signed them, Lucas allowed his mind to drift. It happened sometimes. He wondered how his life would be if some things had happened differently.

"All done," Lucas said a few minutes later.

"Good. I need to go to the Ministry. Walk with me?"

Lucas nodded politely. They turned left, out of the way of the main corridor, and entered the apparition area. Before they disapparated, Harry laid a comforting hand on Lucas' shoulder and said, "I'm sure they would be very proud."

Before Lucas could respond, there was a whooshing sound and Harry was gone. Lucas swallowed tightly and followed.

* * *

"This is unacceptable, Minister."

Boot rubbed tiredly at his face and sighed. "We've been over this, Liaison Golock."

"And we shall go over it as many times as it takes for you to understand."

Harry sat back in his chair and glanced at Flitwick, who sat next to him, his feet dangling from the chair. From behind his opulent desk, Minister Boot resumed his argument with the goblin representative. As the discussion wore on, the goblin's teeth became more and more visible, always a sure sign of displeasure.

"You're not going to intervene?" Harry whispered to Flitwick.

The wizened ex-professor shook his head resolutely. "This argument is as old as magic. It won't end today, no matter what I say."

Harry shrugged agreeably. He was the last person to comment on goblin affairs. The last time he negotiated with the creatures, Gringotts underwent massive renovations and had to train a new dragon. Harry was billed for the repairs. Exhaustively.

"Minister," repeated Golock, teeth bared, "there is absolutely no proof that my kin had a hand in what transpired. The site is indeed ours, but as gathered from the evidence you yourself so kindly provided, the unfortunate deaths were not of our doing. I fail to see how the goblin nation is once again indebted to wizards."

Eyes narrowed, Minister Boot opened his mouth to reply. However, Harry cut in before he could do so.

"Excuse me, Golock," he said, ignoring the way the goblin's hands twitched at the sound of Harry's voice. "It is quite correct that a wizard is responsible for the murders. However, isn't the goblin nation responsible for the upkeep and monitoring of your underground palaces?"

"It is," the goblin replied, grinding his teeth together.

Minister Boot jumped in. "Then how is it that your alarms failed to inform you of a breach?"

There was silence for a moment. Golock stared at the Minister with a scowl on his face.

"An investigation is underway."

"Indeed it is," Flitwick rasped. "I advise we postpone these negotiations until we have new findings to report."

"I concur."

The goblin glared at Harry. "Fine."

Golock slid out of his chair, nodded stiffly at Flitwick and left without a word. A contingent of goblins converged on him the moment he stepped out. The grinding sounds of their language slowly faded away as the group headed for the elevators.

Wide-eyed, Lucas stared after them from his seat outside the Minister's office. Harry smiled at him before the door was closed by a secretary. Minister Boot exhaled tiredly.

"This day can't possibly get any worse," said the Minister.

Flitwick chuckled. "I remember those kinds of days. Hogwarts saw its fair share of chaos as well."

"Yes. Yes, it did." The Minister walked over to a liquor cabinet and poured himself a generous measure of an amber liquid. "Drinks?"

"No, thank you, Minister," said Flitwick. Next to him, Harry shook his head. "I'm afraid I need to be on my way. It has been a long afternoon."

"Of course. Once again, professor, I apologize for the inconvenience. Hershel was the only one with a working relationship with the goblins so we would've been stumped without you. Thank you very much for the assistance."

With some effort, Flitwick got out of his chair and waved off the Minister's gratitude. "Happy to lend a hand." He produced a gnarled walking cane out of thin air and shook the Minister's hand. "Call on me if something arises. Harry knows how to get in touch with me."

Harry knelt down and received and enthusiastic hug from his Charms professor, who whispered to him, "Come see me next week. I have a surprise for you." They pulled apart. Flitwick's eyes glittered with childish enthusiasm. "I daresay you'll enjoy it very much."

As Flitwick left, Harry sat down and let his gaze wander around the room. It reminded him of the Headmaster's office in some ways; it often happened that previous occupants left behind tiny imprints of their personalities. And although there were no portraits in this office, the trinkets, the wet bar, the furniture and carpets and rugs, the mounted displays of hunted creatures… They all told a story.

The Minister took a large swallow of his drink and followed Harry's gaze. "Nundu," he said proudly, gesturing at the tell-tale curved fangs of the creature's skull. "Giles Hoxley himself was present the very day it was finally killed. The beast took down twenty three wizards and eleven goblins and who knows how many Muggles with it. If you ever come across Hoxley's portrait, beg him for the tale."

Harry smiled slightly. "Sounds like a fascinating story."

"Oh yes, very much so. And I can guarantee that after hearing it you will never wish to set foot in North Africa again."

Harry nodded along. Privately, he remembered the last year of Albus Dumbledore's life. Voldemort was by then gone and Harry floated in a sea of glory and power. Ever-smiling and with a sparkle in his eye, Dumbledore took it upon himself to instill some sobriety and humility into Harry. Together, they had gone Nundu hunting in Algeria.

It was the happiest year of Harry's life. He learned more about himself in nine months of travelling than in seven years of schooling.

"So I hear there were some…mishaps in Scotland," Minister Boot said, pulling Harry out of the past. "Would you care to share your version of events?"

Harry shook his head. "Not particularly, Minister. Nothing important transpired that gets us any closer than we were before. The only thing I can say with certainty is that the Musician is a former Death Eater."

Minister Boot sat up straighter and leaned forward. "Indeed? And how many former Death Eaters are yet to be caught?"

"Seven," said Harry, who made a point of knowing these things. "That we know of."

"Seven suspects," mused the Minister. "I'll have to ask for a list to the DMLE." He sighed, stood up and poured himself another drink. "So if you aren't here for a full debrief, is there something you wanted to tell me?"

"Yes." Harry wondered how to explain the conclusions he had reached. The Minister was a smart man. He decided to simply present his findings and let him make up his own mind. "The Aurors – and I – have been operating under the assumption that this Death Eater has no hidden agenda. I now believe this to be false."

"Go on."

"I believe the randomness of his killings served to obscure the key ones, such as Richard Hershel's."

The Minister frowned at this. He remained silent as the idea mulled in his mind.

"I think I see where you are going," Minister Boot said. "It does make some sense. For the first time in fourty years the Muggles find one of the goblin's abandoned palaces, and get killed in the process. At the same time, our best and only goblin liaison is murdered."

"Precisely." Harry nodded. "There's also the fact that this man is a Death Eater. This fact alone would tell us nothing, but together with the goblin situation, it suggests something else, something beyond random killings. At least one wizard – and perhaps more – is planning something. He has a goal. We should move forward cautiously, especially in our dealings with the goblins."

The Minister snorted. "We always deal cautiously with the goblins."

"Then we should be even more careful from now on. For a time, at least."

"I understand your concerns and will take them under advisement," said Minister Boot at last.

The Minister didn't seem to be taking his warning very seriously, but there was nothing for it. It wasn't the first time a Minister of Magic reached out to him for assistance and then ignored what he had to say because it was politically inconvenient.

Nevertheless, Harry knew a dismissal when he heard one. He stood up.

"You will still go after him, I imagine?"

Harry nodded. "We're getting closer. A man with a plan is easier to anticipate."

"Provided you figure out said plan," added the Minister wryly. "But I quite agree. Best of luck. I think I'll go visit my nephew."

"Try Hogwarts."

Harry walked out of the Minister's office. He gestured for Lucas to follow him. The exhausted trainee stood at once, rubbed his eyes and walked behind Harry as they headed for the elevators.

"Are you alright, Lucas?"

"Yes, sir. Just a little tired."

"Hm," said Harry, studying the trainee's carefully controlled expression and posture. "I should have left you to rest."

Lucas shook his head vehemently. "I'm fine, sir. Though I wouldn't mind a cup of coffee…"

"That I can do. I need to stop by my house in any case. Plenty of coffee there."

They stepped out to the Atrium, which was deserted save for the Auror stationed at the security desk, who valiantly fought to stay awake. Harry and Lucas made their way to the apparition area. Their footsteps echoed in the cavernous space.

"If you're sure, sir…"

"Of course," said Harry amiably. "No bother at all."

A few minutes later Lucas sat at the kitchen table, sipping his coffee while his eyes roamed hungrily around Harry's dimly lit house. He had grown up hearing the trials and adventures of Harry Potter and had always envisioned a splendid manor where the legend lived. The reality couldn't be any further from that.

Harry's house was modest, in a good way. It could be found – if you knew where to look – a mile past the Shrieking Shack, away from Hogsmeade's main square. It looked rather rough from the outside. The wooden walls were thick but the grain was uneven and the door often got stuck and required a good shove to close.

Although small from the outside, the inside was spacious and comfortable. Lucas' eyes tended to gravitate towards the living room, where a splendid couch sat in front of a tall bookcase. It spanned three walls and boasted leather journals, thick academic texts and even some old scrolls.

A door opened and Harry appeared holding a folder and the map he had taken earlier from Auror Headquarters. He found Lucas browsing curiously through his books.

"Anything interesting?"

Lucas jumped and smiled sheepishly. "Sorry, sir. Couldn't help myself."

"Be my guest," said Harry, settling by the kitchen table with his files. "It'd be nice if someone read those."

"You haven't read them?" asked Lucas, surprised.

Harry shrugged and put on his glasses. "Some. Dumbledore left behind too many books. I don't think he expected me to read all of them." His smile widened. "He wrote a few himself, you know. Mostly transfiguration and warding, but he dabbled in philosophy and alchemy every now and then."

Lucas stared at Harry in disbelief, his coffee forgotten. While Harry read his files, Lucas wondered how anyone could have shelves filled with Albus Dumbledore's thoughts and not devour them. He was certain he wouldn't leave the house for days on end if it was him.

It was almost two in the morning before Harry put down the last file. It was a list containing every known Death Eater. Most names were crossed out as they were found or killed, but seven remained unmarred. Harry pulled out a fresh piece of paper and copied the names.

_Giles Zabini_

_Blaise Zabini_

_Heather Rookwood_

_Charles Haidenson III_

_Antonin Dolohov_

_Yvonne Johannesburg_

_Johan Ian Hebbert_

He glared at the names in silence. These men and women were the last marked Death Eaters still at large. Harry knew for a fact that Haidenson and Rookwood were hiding somewhere in Germany. Hermione reported the rumors to him. They weren't causing any trouble. The Zabini's disappeared somewhere in South Africa more than a decade ago. Harry saw no reason for them to return now.

He was speculating and he knew it. Still, the shortened list gave him a place to start. _Dolohov, Johannesburg, Hebbert. _The three had taken part in raids together in the past. They were smart, powerful and dangerous. Solid candidates. However, any of the other four could have very well returned from exile.

Besides, there was no way for Harry to determine there was only one Musician. What if there were two? Or three? What if all seven of them were involved? He already suspected the Musician to be using polyjuice. As such, even the women were candidates.

Harry sighed and removed his glasses. He was getting nowhere. There were seven people on his list and so seven people he would find, starting with the most likely: Dolohov, Johannesburg and Hebbert.

By the time he looked up from his work, Lucas had fallen asleep on the couch with an open book on his chest. It rose and fell with every breath. Harry snorted. He should have left the trainee in St. Mungo's, no matter how much he enjoyed the company.

He stood up and stretched and decided to leave Lucas to rest. He wrote a brief message, left it on the table and quietly draped a blanket over the sleeping form of the trainee, who mumbled something about Dumbledore living in Harry's castle.

The crescent moon lent a pale light through the canopy of the trees outside his house. Harry checked his pocket watch. 2:15. He debated the merits of setting out now to find their witness' boss. As soon as he decided to try talking to him in the morning, the bloated, scarred face of Susan swam to the forefront of his mind.

Harry let out a tired sigh and pulled his cloak on tight against the cold. He needed more evidence to support his theory about the Musician having an agenda. Sleep could wait until he had a clearer picture of what was going on.

After two phone calls, a floo to the head of Muggle Relations in the Ministry and an hour of digging around, Harry found out Jiggs' boss worked in a museum in London.

Harry appeared in an empty room. His eyes swept towards the ceiling, scanning his surroundings for cameras. He had learned that particular lesson in America; it seemed every blasted nook and corner across the sea was lined with security cameras.

Satisfied, he strode towards a door on the opposite side. The room in which he had apparated was small and shaped like a cylinder. Early versions of domesticated seeds were neatly displayed on one corner. A series of dull hatchets made of stone hung on the walls. Harry disappeared through an Employees Only door.

He walked leisurely through a long, narrow corridor, pausing at each fork to check on his spell. Before long Harry found himself standing in front of a closed door. Inscribed on its glass window was the name of the man he was here to see: Dr. Franco Navada. A light shone from the other side. He knocked.

A tall, thin man opened the door. He looked at Harry with unimpressed, weary eyes. "Yes?"

"Good morning, Mr. Navada," said Harry politely. "My name is Harry Potter. I'm here about Mr. Jiggs."

Mr. Navada groaned. "Of course you are. So is everyone else." He looked at Harry up and down pointedly. "Though I suppose you're the first wizard."

Harry raised an eyebrow but said nothing. Mr. Navada gestured for him to step inside.

The room was rather small, made even smaller and cramped by the towering book cases that lined all four walls. There was a rectangular table in the middle, groaning under the weight of yet more books, documents and what looked like ancient stone daggers and arrow heads. The shelves on one side of the room were empty.

"I'm sorry to intrude upon your time," said Harry. He eyed a stack of papers in which the names of dozens of books waited to be crossed out. "I can see you're busy, despite the hour."

Mr. Navada squinted at him through thick glasses, trying to decide if Harry was being sarcastic. He grunted and began clearing a space for them to sit. The stacks of heavy books on the table grew precariously tall.

"No rest for the wicked or the paleontologist," said Mr. Navada, gesturing at the empty chair. "As you said, I'm…" He glanced at his watch and sighed. "I'll just finish this tomorrow. Go ahead, ask."

Harry smiled reassuringly. The man found himself returning the smile without noticing.

"So you know about us," said Harry placidly. "I take it you have some wizards in the family?"

Mr. Navada nodded. "A niece. Just starting Hogwarts. Quite the eye-opener, I'll tell you that for free."

Harry chuckled. "It is, isn't it? First in the family?"

"As far as I know."

Harry mulled over the name Navada in his head. Every term he was invited by the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor to teach a practical class. It was the highlight of his year.

"Blonde, small nose, brown eyes, asks a lot of questions?" Harry drummed his fingers on the arm of the chair, ignoring the professor's widening eyes. "Ah, yes. Miranda Navada."

Mr. Navada barked a laugh, relaxing into his chair. "You teach there!"

"Every now and then," replied Harry. "I'm sort of retired right now."

"Now, don't tell me you're eighty years old." Mr. Navada made a clicking noise with his tongue. "The fellow who came to talk to Miranda was seventy. He raced her up the stairs."

Harry smiled. "Nothing like that. I'm afraid it's a little more complicated."

"Ah. Say no more then."

They lapsed into silence as each gathered his thoughts. Harry flicked idly through the list of books, running the facts of the case in his mind. He had several questions to ask and they had to be asked carefully. There was no telling whether the professor had been approached by the Musician, too, who seemed to be competent in Legilimency. The wrong question could trigger a violent reaction or inflict permanent brain damage.

"You've been approached about this before, correct?" Harry asked. Mr. Navada nodded, staring silently at Harry. "Tell me about this employee of yours and his work."

The man sighed. "Jiggs was a paleontologist, he graduated a few years ago. Very ambitious young man. Not terribly brilliant to be honest, not enough to match his ambitions anyway."

"I see." Harry considered his next words carefully. "Did he go on many… He liked field work?"

"Not particularly," replied Mr. Navada slowly. "He wasn't an outdoors sort of person. But he did like the prestige and recognition that comes with presenting a new find. I believe his greatest ambition was to discover a new specimen, something no one had seen before. This is the only reason he went on expeditions."

Harry nodded. "Did he tell you about anything odd lately? Clues that could lead to this new specimen of his?"

Mr. Navada narrowed his eyes. "So it's real? That video they keep playing on the news?"

Harry was silent for a long moment before answering. "Yes."

"What happened then?" he pressed, leaning forward. "A whole team was killed. Was it your people? Did wizards kill my team?"

Harry frowned severely at Mr. Navada, who flinched as if he had been struck. The professor drew back and sat down, glaring sullenly at the polished wood of the floor. His right hand twitched.

"No law-abiding wizard would ever strike down another man, Mr. Navada," said Harry reproachfully. "I'm here on behalf of our police department. This is a criminal investigation. If a wizard did do this, he will answer to the law as a man would do in your world for the same crime. Rather more, in fact. The Dementors will have his soul for this."

"His…soul?" asked the professor in a small voice.

"Please answer the question, Mr. Navada. Did Jiggs mention anything unusual before he left for his expedition?"

The man thought it over carefully. Once or twice he seemed to be about to ask another question, but Harry wasn't having any of it. His expression clearly suggested he expected an answer first.

"Well, no, not as such," said Mr. Navada nervously. "Jiggs was always a bit off, you know. A bit too eager sometimes. Other times he dragged his feet when told to do something. It would be hard to tell if something was off."

"Go on, please."

"Uh, well…" The man fumbled for something to add. "The expedition itself was strange, I guess."

Harry perked up. "Was it?"

"Oh, yes. Very strange," continued Mr. Navada. "Ground studies of that particular area have been done before. Yes, many times. Nothing ever suggested there were fossils to be found." His lips twitched. "Or oil, for that matter.

"But Jiggs thought he had something. He came to me about a month ago and told me he had a possible find out there. The preliminary ground studies were promising, he said, and the find was big." The professor swallowed thickly. "Big enough to call attention to our museum. He asked for permission and funds."

Harry scrutinized the man's face. "So you gave it to him?"

"Not entirely, no," he replied. "I told him he could go, but I wouldn't grant him any funds. I told him I'd need to see the ground studies first. This museum simply can't afford speculation and guesswork, you see."

"I understand. Still, he went. Where did he get the funds? Could he pay for it himself?"

"Impossible," said Mr. Navada at once, no flicker of doubt in his tone. "There were twenty four men in the team and the equipment is ridiculously expensive. The drill alone would cost him five years of wages. And that doesn't include specialized heads for different ground layers." He shook his head. "Simply impossible."

"So how did he do it?"

The man spread his hands, baffled. "I have no idea. At first I assumed he'd gotten a sponsor, some rich, bored gentleman with a passion for archeology. It's not a common occurrence, but it can happen."

"I see," said Harry pensively. "One last question, Mr. Navada. Was Jiggs the sort of man who would follow a vague lead like this? Would he spend time, effort and money into something that could very well turn out to be a false alarm?"

"Not in a million years," replied the man confidently. "Jiggs was very mindful of his reputation. He wouldn't risk odds like this. He was very ambitious, certainly, but he wasn't a complete fool. The man understood ground studies. No sane paleontologist would waste time in an excavation in that particular area."

"Very well." Harry stood up. Mr. Navada followed a moment later. "Thank you for your time, Mr. Navada. You've been very helpful."

The two men shook hands. Harry was about to disapparate when he decided to risk asking one last question.

"Mr. Navada," he said, "have you seen Jiggs talking to a stranger in the museum? He would be oddly dressed, either as a wizard or an eccentric Muggle. Maybe he approached you, too?"

"I… I don't…"

The man's eyes went out of focus. Harry's hand closed on the handle of his wand.

"Think, Mr. Navada. A wizard walking through your museum. Maybe a discussion with Jiggs. Then Jiggs acting oddly, asking for funds for a strange expedition." As Harry spoke, the man's face gradually lost all expression. "You can't tell. Can't remember. But something in the back of your mind tells you that yes, you saw him. You even talked to him. Did he point a wand at you?"

Mr. Navada's lined face contorted in rage. He scrambled blindly for something on the table and then charged at Harry with a small stone axe in hand. Harry pulled out his wand.

There was a flash of crimson light and Harry gently lowered the unconscious man on an empty chair. The axe clattered to the ground with a sharp, hollow sound. Harry stared in silence at Mr. Navada for a moment, who looked to be merely asleep.

In the morning, he'd send an owl to the Ministry. A wizard experienced in subtle mind magic would be able to lift the block and the compulsion. Meanwhile, the man wouldn't remember this conversation.

Harry turned on the spot and vanished. He had his evidence.


	7. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

Dawn broke out by the time Harry got home. It was raining again.

He pushed open the door and shuffled inside. Water dripped from his clothes to the floor, forming a puddle. He shrugged out of his cloak and vanished the mess with his wand, and looked up to find Lucas staring at him from across the room, next to the only picture in Harry's house.

For a moment, his eyes stopped at the portrait of the seven survivors, as Neville called it. He looked away.

"Morning, Lucas."

"Uh, hello, sir." Lucas picked up the note Harry had left him. "I'm sorry. I guess I was more tired than I thought."

Harry waved the apology away. "No matter. I don't expect anyone to bounce back at once from a dose of skelegrow."

Lucas nodded hesitantly and put down the note. He gestured at it. "So, did you find anything?"

Harry sighed. "It's as we discussed." He moved to a window and rapped sharply on the glass, twice. "There is definitely an agenda. The Musician planted the idea of an excavation in our witness' mind. He also put a violent trigger and a block on his boss." He grimaced. "Poor man tried to bury an axe in my skull."

As he finished speaking, a large brown owl fluttered his way to the window, which Harry slid open in time for him to soar inside and perch on his shoulder. He bobbed his head jerkily and flapped his wings to dry.

"So, what are we doing now?" Lucas asked, watching curiously as Harry fished inside his pocket for something. The owl watched him with large, intelligent yellow eyes. "Are we going to track down these names you wrote here?"

"Already tried. Unfortunately, I had no luck with that." Harry produced a small piece of folded parchment and some seeds. "Here, Bob. To the Ministry when you're done. Don't give me that look, it's just a little water."

Bob hooted reproachfully but stuck out his leg, where Harry swiftly tied the letter. He proceeded to ignore the people while pecking at the seeds on the counter top.

"Oh. Nice owl," Lucas offered.

"Stubborn as a mule and very loyal," Harry said fondly. "Bob's been with me since I was thirty."

"_Thirty_? Wow. I didn't know they lived that long."

Bob looked up at the sound of his name and let out a high-pitched whistling sound.

Harry chuckled. "How old do you think I am?"

"Uh. Fifty?"

"Not quite yet," Harry said. Lucas flushed crimson. "But you're close."

Harry announced that he needed a change of clothes and disappeared into his bedroom. Lucas looked around the empty kitchen. For lack of a better thing to do, he poured himself another cup of scalding coffee and watched Bob eat the last of his seeds.

When the owl was finished, he climbed on the faucet by the window and stared fixedly at Lucas, who stood up with a weary sigh to let him out. As soon as he slid open the window, Bob took off and Lucas lost his tiny form amidst the miserable pouring rain.

A different owl swooshed in through the open window, spraying water droplets everywhere.

"Hey! Stop that," said Lucas. "Stay still."

He untied the newspaper from the anxious owl and fished a handful of Knuts and Sickles to pay. By the time he looked back up the owl was already flapping its way toward the window.

"Moronic bird," Lucas muttered as he pulled open the newspaper. He frowned at the headline. "Mr. Potter?"

From the bedroom came Harry's muffled voice. "Yes?"

"The _Prophet_ just arrived. I think we might have a problem."

There was a pause.

"Define _problem_."

"Uh." Lucas scanned the article as fast as he could. "Goblins, sir. Problems with Gringotts. There's also something about Minister Boot and some new decree."

"_What_?"

There was a low thump followed by Harry entering the kitchen in a hurry. He was wearing a deep crimson robe reminiscent of the Auror's uniform.

Lucas cleared his throat and read aloud.

"'_Given recent disastrous events, the recently drafted decree aims to restrain Goblin control over abandoned or unused underground palaces. As_ _such, a joint committee of both wizards and Goblins will henceforth be tasked with the monitoring of these areas." _Harry made a disgruntled noise. Lucas looked up at Harry, who gestured for him to continue_. "Minister Boot expressed hopes that this measure will help ensure Muggles are kept safe and separate from our world's affairs'_."

Harry sighed, sat down by the kitchen table and took off his glasses. He rubbed his face tiredly, grimacing. To Lucas, he suddenly looked ten years older.

"Hard to believe, isn't it?" Harry muttered. Lucas placed the newspaper next to his elbow. "He certainly doesn't look the fool, yet there you have it."

"What does this mean, sir?"

"That the Ministry has finally gone too far," Harry explained. "The Goblins won't stand for this, that much I can tell you right now. Trouble with Gringotts is but the beginning."

Lucas didn't know much on the subject, but everybody had heard about the Goblin conflicts of the 19th century. "A rebellion?"

Harry shrugged. "It may not come to that, not if the Wizengamot strikes the decree down. Boot can't change an official treaty with another race without a two thirds majority in the Wizengamot."

"So, there's still hope."

"Some," Harry said slowly. He looked up from his perusal of the article. "I tend to put my hopes and trust on the individual, not on the group. But we shall see."

They left the house in a hurry, anxious to get to Diagon Alley and see the problems at Gringotts with their own eyes. Harry said that in cases such as these the Goblins purposefully delay service. Sometimes, it led to riots in the busy alley while the Goblins happily secured themselves inside the bank, leaving wizards to deal with the damage.

While Lucas didn't consider long lines to be such a serious problem, he was content to tag along. It beat going back to the office and run the risk of coming across a recovered Barrock, who would undoubtedly have something to say about his mediocre performance of the day before. After a moment's thought, he pocketed the list of seven names Harry had left on the table and followed the older Auror outside.

Minutes after their departure, one of Hogwarts' recognizable black and brown owls alighted by the window. It tapped and scratched insistently at the glass. A letter dangled from its talon.

* * *

"I do apologize," said a Goblin standing outside of Gringotts. He surveyed the crowd with an unsettling smile. "All of our tellers are currently busy and working as fast as they can."

The witches and wizards standing in line groaned. A middle-aged wizard wearing a tattered green cloak squinted at the Goblin and said, "Why so busy, then? I seen them tellers. Dozens of 'em in there!"

The Goblin's grin stretched, revealing pointed yellow teeth. "We are currently expanding our underground railroad system. Service will resume as usual once the work is completed."

"I _need _to make a withdrawal! It can't wait!"

"Say, can't start diggin' on week days, can ya? Had to be on a Saturday."

"Damn Goblins, I tell you…"

Harry and Lucas observed the unfolding scene. The Goblin smiled his toothy smile and did his best to not be alarmed by the swelling crowd. He was doing remarkably well on that front. The reason stood behind him: two escorts wielding massive battleaxes and a troll lazily dragging its spiked club on the floor.

"At least it isn't raining here," offered Lucas.

Harry snorted. "Not yet."

A few protesters left their places in the line and sullenly walked away. They had no real need, Lucas supposed. The vacant spots were quickly gone as the crowd hurried forward. Those in dire need of some Galleons had no choice but to wait.

"I'll be right back," Harry said quietly.

Lucas shrugged agreeably. He watched witches and wizards turn to stare in surprise at Harry as he made his way to the Goblin spokesman. There were a few calls of greeting and other, more desperate pleads for help.

The Goblins' reactions were rather different. The one in charge glared at Harry, while the two wielding axes shared an inscrutable look. The troll didn't notice.

Lucas couldn't hear what was being said, but by the looks of things, the spokesman wasn't pleased. Harry made a sharp gesture of frustration. Two sets of gnarled hands tightened their grips on the axes. Curious, Lucas got closer.

"… not up to you, wizard," ground out the Goblin in charge. "The Goblin nation will do as it sees fit."

There was a pause. "Then please convey to the director my interest in meeting with him tomorrow."

The Goblin spokesman glared at Harry. "Leave. Now."

"I'm sorry, Manager," said Harry. "I do require a meeting with Director Groffk."

"This will not happen. Leave before my kinsmen remove you."

There was another pause. Harry looked pointedly at the guards, his eyes lingering on the troll's dumbfounded expression. Lucas thought he saw Harry's hand twitch.

"Indeed? I'm afraid I must insist, Manager."

Lucas fingered the handle of his wand, ready to draw from his right pocket. However, the troll chose that moment to poke its head inside Gringotts' entrance hall. Something caught its eye and soon the rest of its body followed, leaving its masters behind.

The two Goblins wielding axes looked a great deal less confident. One of them whispered urgently into the spokesman's ear, who glared back at the speaker and spat a few lines in Gobbledegook.

"Have it your way, wizard," said the spokesman at last, dismissing his security. "I will relay your message to Director Groffk. Now, get out of here."

Harry nodded politely and walked away. He smiled at the crowd. Lucas relaxed, but he didn't miss Harry's wand vanishing up his sleeve.

"Do you believe it will help, sir? Your meeting, I mean."

The two walked away from Gringotts. Without discussing it, they headed for the Leaky Cauldron.

"Merlin, no," Harry said, laughing. "We'd be at war by Monday if I go."

He didn't elaborate, so Lucas thought it over and said, "Is Professor Flitwick going in your place?"

"Good guess! Yes, I'll ask him to do so. Speaking Gobbledegook is a bit of a necessity when discussing anything of import with the Goblins. The language is beyond me."

"They also seem to dislike you."

"One dislikes certain foods. What the Goblins feel for me is a great deal more…passionate." Harry smiled sadly as he tapped a particular brick on the entrance to the alley. Individual bricks flipped and rotated out of the way to let them pass. "Dumbledore once tried to reconcile us. Naturally, it backfired spectacularly. The old man laughed about it for months."

There was a bit of a crowd in the Leaky Cauldron. Patrons filled the booths and tables. Clouds of blue and grey smoke blew about in a lazy breeze, mingling with the smell of beer and bourbon. The mood was subdued inside the pub, with a sullen silence buried under the gentle buzz of hushed conversations.

The owner, Tom, leaned on the bar with a bored look on his face, listening with half an ear to a patron telling a story.

"…and well over seven feet tall with clear eyes and a terrible power, see?" the man was saying to his surrounding drinking buddies. He paused for a large swallow of beer and continued his tale. "My brother said it took a wave of his wand – one single wave, mind you – to bring the whole building crashing down."

Tom leaned away from the man as Harry and Lucas walked in. He shushed the drunk impatiently and smiled his toothless smile.

"Mr. Potter! Great to see you!"

Lucas thought the greeting was a tad louder than it needed to be. Other patrons swiveled in their chairs to stare at the new arrivals. Harry didn't seem to mind.

"Morning, Tom." Harry nodded at the crowd in general. "Doing very well, I see. Even by your standards."

Tom bowed his head slightly. "Profit ain't hard to come by with this lot. They'd drink wine righ' outta my wand, they would."

"Oi!"

"Piss off, Tom."

"Not that there ain't no reason to be drinkin'," Tom continued, ignoring his customers. His smile faltered. "Been hearin' an awful lot of news, none good. I also hear ya been there for some of it."

"Hm," murmured Harry as he, too, rested his elbows on the bar. "I might have played a minor role."

Lucas snorted. At once, the two patrons and Tom turned to look at him. Harry placed a hand on his shoulder and nudged him towards the bar.

"Tom, Hobbs, Jayne, meet Auror Trainee Lucas." Harry pointed at the men and woman. "Lucas, these are the Leaky Cauldron's foremost gossipmongers. Sometimes they buy me lunch and I buy them drinks. They always seem to come out on top. They are rude, abhorrent, loud, unfailingly cheerful and can talk your ears off even while silenced."

"Hello," said Lucas uncertainly. Sometimes he had a hard time telling when Harry was joking.

Jayne grinned. She was missing one eye, which had been replaced with what looked like an electric blue marble. "Don't go believing everyfing 'Arry here says."

"Aye, aye," said Hobbs as he ran a wrinkled hand through his beard and winked. "Though I don't rightly know what a borrent is."

"Can we get some breakfast, Tom?" said Harry. He dropped a few Sickles on the bar. Jayne and Hobbs returned to their discussion. "We'll be over there. No rush."

They settled on a booth next to a grimy window. Through the red-blue crystal Lucas could see the shadowed shapes of Muggles, who walked past unaware of the hidden pub's existence. Harry let out a small yawn and smiled, relaxing into his seat.

"You know, this is where I finally accepted there was a magical world," Harry commented. "An old friend told me about it first, of course. But it's not quite the same simply hearing about it, is it?"

Lucas nodded agreeably. He thought about Harry's words but clamped down on his urge to ask questions. He could see where this conversation might lead and didn't care for it. "Do you come here often?" he asked instead.

Harry raised his eyebrows. The older Auror's eyes met his and held them for a moment, before Lucas looked away. To his relief, Harry shrugged and said, "Sometimes. Maybe once a week. You?"

Lucas mimed Harry's shrug. "Sometimes. I tend to pick lunch at the Ministry, though. It's more convenient."

"That it is, though I prefer Tom's cooking. Ah! Speaking of food…"

Tom came by bearing two steaming plates of scrambled eggs, bacon and toast and a pitcher of chilled pumpkin juice. Lucas made a face at the choice in beverage but said nothing. The bacon was crisp and the eggs cooked just enough. Harry tucked in eagerly and Lucas remembered with a twinge of guilt that the older Auror had been up all night following leads while he slept on the couch.

Lucas began eating as well. He furtively drew his wand and turned the pumpkin juice into water. Harry didn't seem to notice.

After a few minutes of silent chewing, Lucas said, "Sir, can I ask you a question?"

Harry stopped eating and looked up, curious about the change in tone. He picked up his glass and gestured for him to ask while he drank.

Lucas blew out a breath. "I don't mean to be rude, but why are you doing this? I mean, dragging me along with you. We both know I'm not much help – I haven't even started lessons on crime scene investigations or criminal pursuit. I'm decent with a wand, I suppose. But there's many in the department…" He realized he was rambling and sighed. "I was just wondering why me."

Harry chuckled. "You don't want to be here?"

"Oh no," Lucas said hurriedly. "I mean, yes of course I want to be here. It's an honor to work with you, sir."

"Hm. A fan, eh?" His eyes were bright with mirth. "I certainly could do worse. Why, there was this witch a few years ago who started sending me –"

"Please, sir?" interrupted Lucas, sensing this was something the older Auror didn't want to say but that he wanted to hear.

Harry swallowed his food and began picking pieces of toast. "What has procedure or lessons to do with being of assistance to me?" he asked, sounding mystified at the idea that someone could consider investigative classes useful. He looked at Lucas, eyebrows drawing together. "That's certainly not why I want you here. We old Aurors tend to forget some things. As a Muggleborn, I expect you have noticed this, haven't you?"

"As a Muggleborn," Lucas said slowly, being careful not to scowl, "I don't need magic to tell that you are avoiding the question." He swallowed thickly. "Sir."

Harry didn't react to the probe other than to shrug and stare at the window. "Maybe I enjoy the company," he said simply. "Maybe Barrock said something and I was curious. Maybe I knew your father."

"What?"

Lucas stared in disbelief at Harry, who looked back at him, smiling – still calm, so infuriatingly calm. He felt an urge to wipe that unflappable smile, to rage at the green sparkle in his eyes.

But he took a deep breath and waited. He exhaled in an explosive sigh of frustration and said, "You knew my father?"

"Oh yes," Harry replied, smile faltering. "Quite well, in fact. We fought a number of times, too."

Lucas struggled to stay as calm as the other man. "Fought?"

"A number of times."

Lucas didn't like where this was going. His mother had never spoken about his father, except late at night, where she would whisper his name when she thought no one was listening. _Theo_. When he was ten, Lucas decided to stop asking. He couldn't bear the pain in his mother's eyes every time the subject came up. His brother urged him to stop and so he did.

He'd always envisioned a hero. His father, a proud fighter of the last war. Theo, one more casualty fighting against the Dark Lord. But if Harry Potter had fought against him…

Lucas knew he sounded small, but forced himself to ask, "Was he a Death Eater?"

"Sadly, Theodore Nott followed his father's footsteps," Harry said. The smile was gone now. Yet there was no anger either, only a fond sadness. "He made it to Voldemort's ranks and later fell in love with a delightful Muggleborn. He came to me for protection when your brother was born."

Lucas realized he was weeping and didn't care. This was the first time anyone had spoken about his father. "What happened?"

Harry sighed, looking at the street outside as it started to rain in London. "You have to understand. Once you sided with Voldemort, there was no going back. The Dark Lord did not take defection lightly," he said tiredly. "So your father made the brave choice to stay in his circle and spy for us. Meanwhile, I hid your mother and brother as best as I could.

"You were born as the war neared its end. The plan was for all four of you to reunite once Voldemort was gone for good. However, a few months before I found him, Voldemort discovered your father's treason and secrets, and killed him. He dispatched his Death Eaters to where I had hid your mother. By the time I realized what had happened, the house was in ruins and you were long gone."

Harry turned to Lucas and gently nudged his chin up to stare into his eyes. "You and I have much in common, Lucas. Your father died a brave, proud man. Whatever led him to become a Death Eater and whatever he did – it pales compared to the lives he saved. He was a good friend."

Lucas nodded jerkily and looked away. He wiped at his eyes with the sleeve of his robe. At the moment, Harry seemed to have become fascinated with the blue smoke curling in the air above their booth.

"Thank you," Lucas managed to say. It was too much information, more than he had ever hoped to find after his mother had passed and with her the memories of his father. Yet now there was a veritable chest of stories sitting in front of him. He couldn't decide where to start, or if he should even start at all.

Instead, he went a different track and, without thinking, said, "My mother never said anything. Not about you or my father. Were you – were you close with her?"

Lucas saw real, raw pain in Harry's eyes. He seemed to deflate, becoming less like the wizard who single-handedly supported a hospital and more a disillusioned, weary man.

"Of course I knew Mela," he said quietly. "I wasn't as close to her as I was with Theo, but we kept in touch. I was there when you and your brother were born, you know. It was the happiest I ever saw her."

The tears threatened to spill again, but they came with a tight burning in his stomach. The anger gave Lucas something to focus on. Like poison it took over his thoughts, and despite his efforts, his next words held a note of accusation, "Where were you, then?"

"I'm truly sorry, Lucas," said Harry softly. "I learned of the attack hours after –"

"Not then, not when they attacked," Lucas interrupted. "Where were you when she lost it? Where were you when she would drink so much that she'd confuse me with my brother? Where were you when she killed herself?"

For the first time since he'd met the man, Harry was speechless. Lucas drew a small amount of satisfaction from the hurt in the other man's eyes, from the utter helplessness of his posture and the way he slumped back in his seat.

"I tried, Lucas," he said. "I tried so many times. It took me weeks to even realize you two had survived. I buried the both of you along with your brother. I had no idea…" Harry's eyes filled, and he made no effort to hide it. "When I finally found your mother, she told me not to come back again. Never to write her. She blamed me for Theo and Carlisle and she blamed herself, and soon she left for Sweden to live with her family and I never saw her again."

Harry took a deep breath and closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them, his expression had become neutral, alien, a ways off from the flippant, somewhat cheery attitude Lucas had gotten used to by now. The contrast was all the more glaring with the tear tracks that ran down his cheeks.

_That has to be magic. _The thought breezed by Lucas' mind as he listened to Harry.

"You were a year old at the time. Mela asked me to stay out of your lives and so I did. I thought you'd be better off without my name hovering around you and the constant reminder of what you'd lost. I regret it now. The only excuse I can give you is that I didn't expect Mela to go that far. But I should have. You three meant everything to her. I'm sorry, Lucas. I truly am."

Lucas' jaw ached from clamping down on several responses. He should have been there! He should have stayed or visited, no matter what his mother said. Didn't he see she was simply distraught? That cutting off completely would be even worse? Mela Baggins took her own life when Lucas was eight years old, and this man could have prevented it.

He looked down and slowly picked up the fork with his right hand. Mechanically, he shoveled the last bits of egg in his mouth as the last memories of his mother surfaced after all this time. Harry was broken over it, he could tell beyond any doubt, but surely he deserved more. Surely Lucas had a right to say so.

His left hand found the other man's, which he patted awkwardly. Suddenly Harry grabbed hold of it and squeezed with hopeless abandon. Lucas looked up, startled, to find Harry's face twisted in pain, and the poisonous anger he'd been fanning left him as if it had been drained away from an open wound.

"Mela asked me to stay away and I did," Harry said. Despite his expression, his voice remained steady. "I broke every promise I made to her except this one. Now that our paths finally crossed, this is your story, Lucas. There's more if you wish to hear it. I'm sorry I couldn't share it with you sooner." He sighed and slackened his grip on Lucas' hand. "However, if you want to go back to the office now, I won't stop you."

Lucas thought about it. He considered standing up and apparating back to the Ministry. A day ago he'd have screamed bloody murder if someone took away the chance of learning from Harry Potter himself.

He cleared his throat and drew back, leaving Harry's open hand on the wooden table. Already Lucas saw the resignation in the other man's eyes.

After giving it careful thought, Lucas said, "I want to stay. I – I think I understand, sir. But I would like to ask you some questions later, if you don't mind."

He didn't come out and say it, but he could tell Harry had read between the lines. _This isn't over, sir._

But Harry didn't seem to mind. The years melted off his face as if nothing would bring him more joy than sitting down with Lucas and tell him everything. Embarrassed at his own outburst, Lucas merely nodded and managed a small smile.

"We might have to cut it a little early now," said Harry. He stuck a hand into his pockets and pulled out a small, dusty mirror. "Barrock's been screaming at me for fifteen minutes."

Wide-eyed, Lucas watched his reflection be replaced by his boss' angry face. "Baggins? Where the hell is Potter?"

"Here, Barrock," Harry said as he flipped the mirror and stared into it. "Something happen?"

Lucas heard an irritated grunt. "Something happened, alright," came Barrock's voice. "The bastard killed the Queen, Potter."

Harry stood up at once, with Lucas following a second behind, leaving the last of his breakfast uneaten.

"Tell me."

"Do you have a television in your place?" the voice asked. Harry shook his head. "Well, get to one. Watch the news and get back to me. We need to move fast, but first I need you to see it."

Harry nodded, did something with his fingers and Barrock's face vanished. He stuck the mirror in his pocket as they cleared the pub in a hurry. The patrons turned to watch them go, their faces full of speculation.

It was drizzling outside. A tense stillness had come over London. The Muggles hurried past the Leaky Cauldron, most of them speaking into their mobile phones. Harry gestured for Lucas to follow and they took off at a quick jog down the sodden sidewalk.

Abruptly he stopped, forcing Lucas to stop as well. The trainee opened his mouth, but Harry raised a hand distractedly, listening. The startled cry repeated itself, echoing down the crowded street. Soon they found a gathering of Muggles standing horrified before a shop's window. They stared in wordless vigil at a large television.

Harry and Lucas hurried over to the crowd of onlookers. There was an almost sacred silence shared among them, and as they pushed past them, they discovered why.

The TV screen showed footage recorded by a security camera. For a second Lucas thought that Jiggs' video was being broadcasted again, but he at once discarded the thought. The setting was different. It showed an elegant hallway lavishly decorated, with plenty of beautifully done tapestries and tall marble columns and old oil paintings framed in gold.

"Merlin," whispered Lucas. "He was right. That's Buckingham Palace."

Walking down the hall at a slow, careful pace was Queen Elizabeth herself, escorted by a young man in uniform. Right behind them, creeping along, was…

"Oh no," Harry muttered to himself. "No, no, no…"

It was Minister of Magic Franklin Boot. He had his wand in hand.

Something alerted the young man, who turned and hurried to stand between Boot and the Queen. With his back to the security camera, the Minister aimed his wand at the man, who was yanked off his feet and slammed head-first against a marble column. Such was the force that his head exploded in a shower of blood, bone and brain matter. The Queen could clearly be seen screaming in silent terror, and the fact that the camera hadn't recorded sound to go along with the images made the scene worse.

Then Minister Boot was standing next to the Queen, who dropped to her knees and awkwardly tried to crawl away from him. But it was in vain. Her thin arms shook from the sheer effort and she soon collapsed, exhausted, her attacker still looming over her. Very carefully, as if afraid of spoiling the moment, Boot traced his wand over the Queen's rich clothing, which fell apart and left her vulnerable and small.

He aimed the wand at her neck and levitated her off the ground, where she hung twitching and struggling, clutching at her throat. Slowly, the Queen's face took on a purplish hue. She went limp.

The Minister of Magic turned and smiled directly at the security camera as he used his wand to remove the dead Queen's head.

Harry took a deep breath and walked away, tapping on a stunned Lucas' shoulder for him to follow. The Muggles stared in shock at the screen. Some wept in silent disbelief, mothers pulled their children away with worried looks on their faces.

Already the first sparks of rage and indignation kindled among the crowd, festering like an infection. The streets of London took on the scent of violence and rioting.

"Come on," Harry urged Lucas as they moved towards an alley. "We have to go. Now."

Lucas was panting in his effort to keep up. "I can't believe this… Merlin, he killed the Queen!"

"It wasn't Boot," Harry said as they turned the corner. "Barrock's right. It's the Musician again. We were all wrong. He's not going after the Goblins. The Aurors need to secure the Minister now."

"But why?" asked Lucas. "The Muggles don't know who he is. They'll call it an act of terrorism or something like that."

Harry shook his head. He checked the alley, saw it was clear on both sides and prepared to apparate. "_Most _Muggles don't know who he is, Lucas. Think! What does the Minister of Magic do within hours of gaining office?"

It took Lucas a second. He paled. "The Prime Minister…"

"Correct," Harry said grimly. "We need to move fast." Already he was fiddling with the mirror. Barrock's face came into view. "It's as you said," Harry said at once. "We need to talk to the Prime Minister now."

"Agreed," replied Barrock. "We need to send Boot to talk to him, too. It'll be better off in the long run. Can you secure the Muggle's office for the Minister? I need some Aurors with me here to keep a lid on things. You wouldn't believe the chaos in the Ministry."

Harry nodded. "I'll clear the office. Send along the Minister as soon as you can."

"You taking the rookie with you?"

There was a pause. Harry turned to look at Lucas, who didn't hesitate before nodding. Harry's eyes seemed to sparkle in the mid-morning light.

"Yes, I'll need his assistance."

The mirror once again vanished into the folds of Harry's crimson cloak. He placed a hand on Lucas' shoulders and closed his eyes. "Ever visited 10 Downing Street?"

Lucas shook his head, then realized Harry couldn't see him. "No, sir."

"Alright, wands out then. Keep an eye on my back please."

The revelations of his father and Harry's involvement had left Lucas feeling exhausted. Yet his weariness mingled with a twinge of excitement at what they were about to do. He couldn't decide whether he wanted a quiet rest or to go wands blazing.

As they twisted on the spot and the constricted feeling of disapparition took hold of him, Lucas thought that if this was what Harry Potter's life was like maybe his mother had been right to keep her children away from it for as long as possible.


End file.
